Canton TX, junk capital of the universe.

Poodle didn't think the flea market experience sounded all that great. Why would he want to go to a market to buy fleas? Ewww. After a short explanation of how flea markets aren't really markets for fleas, and that plastic isn't much of a flea conductor anyway, we set sail for fabulous Canton, the junk capital of the universe. Canton holds the mother of all flea markets on the weekend preceding the first Monday of every month. You can buy anything in Canton. Almost. Apparently you can't buy a 4ft tall Big Boy statue that would fit in the back of a Scion XB, but I won't hold my personal bitterness against the First Monday Trade Days Foundation. Perhaps we just missed the Big Boy booth. Upon arrival in "First Monday Park " which is indicated by a brown and white national- park -looking- sign on I-20 , we spotted this fabulous monument to commerce. "This is the place," I declared, unhooking Poodle from his carabiner. We had to wait for a pair of women to finish photographing their garden gnomes (soooo last year!) with the monument, and then Poodle was able to take his rightful place in Bennett, New Mexico. I suppose I should have talked to the Gnome People to see what sort of project they were doing, but I really just wanted to hit the junk booths. A million hours later, laden with felt elves, flocked reindeer, sock monkeys, a 25 ton bag of kettle corn, and a metal halloween cat clicker, we headed home confident that we would return again soon.