We went into three boutiques on Valencia Street. Chris marveled at how the novelty of the items in each store were worth more than its realization. They should have just filled the store with note cards saying things like, "Googly-Eyed Hair Clip" "Pencil Holder Shaped Like Pencil Sharpener" and "Crocheted Octopus in a Glass Jar". People could read the cards and have their chuckle without the making of this useless, adorable shit.
We left to get ice-cream. I walked behind Chris and his fiance, both twenty one. My parents were married at that age, but it seems obscenely young to me. I was told they were getting hitched so the woman would gain US citizenship. They would stand before a man of the cloth, dressed to the nines, and be joined forever. Their marriage certificate will hang on a wall or sit in a bureau, screaming love.
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