ice cream cone life

Makes Hipsters weaving friendship bracelets look pretty darn rudimentary doesn't it?

Rugs. Lots. of. rugs.  You can find any size, any color, any pattern, and it will only cost you $3,000.  Special deal for you my friend.  Be warned, if you go to Istanbul, you will be heckled.  Guys will follow you around all. day. They will try to get you to come and see their special one-of-a-kind rugs.  You will refuse.  You will make excuses.  You will try to ignore them.  Until finally, you give in.  

Walking back to your hotel after a busy day of touristing with the persistent Rug-Dealer trailing at your heels shouting about fine silk threads and ancient Turkish traditions.  Until finally you say, "fine, just a look."  Mr. Rug-Dealer is beaming.  Before you can see his goods, though, he will romance you.  Take you to the top of his rug- trafficking building so that you can see the beautiful view of Istanbul.  You will be amazed.  The view is quite spectacular.  You will thank Mr. Rug-Dealer and think, maybe he's not such a bad guy after all.  And then, after you have taken numerous priceless photographs of the surrounding splendor, he will remind you about the Rugs.  He says, "Follow me, now you will see something that will bring tears to your eyes."

You follow.  Down many flights of stairs you go.  To the basement.  Or perhaps subterranean lair.  With each passing step your subconscious screams louder maybe this isn't a good idea.  You continue the descent.  You came this far, you can't turn back now.  So you follow him down to the bottom floor.  Through the long twisting hallway.  Passing several noticeably locked doors.  And then you emerge.  Into a golden glowing room.  Floor to ceiling lie piles of the best quality money can buy.  It is hypnotic.  In your mind, you can actually hear millions of tiny threads being individually twisted. You step closer to take a better look at the goods.  They are spectacular.  Flawless.  The Dealer awakens you from your revere to present you to yet another man, stylishly dressed, olive skin, well-groomed shiny black hair, the man that can only be the Boss.  The Boss welcomes you to his home and invites you to sit awhile and admire his wares while discussing business over tea.  He explains that if you are in a Turkish household and are offered tea, you must not refuse.  What do you do? 

If you are me, you glance around, and ask the price of the nearest beauty.  The Boss replies, "For you my love, only $4,000. It was made by human hands.  of the finest silk."  You look at the $50 in your wallet and glance back at the rug.  You look at the Boss, in all his glory, smiling at you.  He wants you to have that rug.  Just touch it.  Imagine how it would lie in your house.  

You smile back and out of the corner of your eye you take note of the door through which you entered.  You grab your mother's hand, retrieving her from her rug-induced stupor and you visually motion to your partner.  Your exchange says, Now.  Without another moments hesitation, the three of you briskly walk out of the room, trying not to run and thereby allowing them to smell your fear.  You race up the several hundred flights of stairs knowing what could be following and you burst through to the bustling city street outside in front of you.  All three of you gasp for a breath of fresh air scented with lavender and the salty moistness of the nearby Bosphorus.  You all look at each other.  And you begin to laugh hysterically.