Thoughts on my second craft fair

I dreamed last night that I was at a craft show in a mall, happily browsing my friend Melissa’s booth full of polished round stone beads. I remembered she’d done this same display last year. I was hanging out with an amiable boy — maybe her boyfriend Andy? Suddenly I remembered I was supposed to be setting up my own booth. I tore away, the boy running alongside for moral support. I ran down one hallway, then another, each time hoping I’d catch a glimpse of the Satsumabug logo to tell me where to go. I finally saw a floor map; I just had time to register that Satsumabug’s designated setup time was from 1-1:70 (?!) and it was only 1:40. Then the boy called, “Over here!”

I rounded a corner to find that Satsumabug occupied a huge corner spot, and wasn’t just a booth, but appeared to be a permanent setup of bakery, ice cream shop, and café tables and chairs. My parents and Shra were already there and had set all this up. I barely had time to apologize and thank them when customers began pouring in. I stood behind the counter, and my family vanished. A girl came up and declared, “I want the ice cream that tastes like vinegar.” I thought about it, and asked, “Do you mean the ginger flavor?” “I don’t think so,” she said uncertainly, and I motioned to her to follow me to the ice cream area.

Together, we glanced over the ice cream freezer, and the girl exclaimed, “Plague!” She pointed to a tub of greenish-yellow ice cream with some translucent parts, and said, “That’s the one!” Sure enough, the label read, “Plague” — it was one of those novelty flavors, like Bertie Bott’s beans. “Let me give you a sample first,” I told her, “so you can be sure it’s the one you want.” I thought this was a very nice, professional thing to do, but I had trouble with the task: first I almost took a dirty spoon, not seeing the sign that said “Employees: CLEAN spoons here,” and then I almost spooned out some Peaches ‘N Cream before I realized it was the wrong color to be Plague. I got the sample ready, then noticed the girl had come behind the counter to accept it. I was in the middle of telling her to stay on the other side when I discovered there was a whole crowd of kids around me, all with their hands stuffed into the ice cream tubs, helping themselves, double-dipping with their dirty spoons. “NO! No! No!” I shouted. “It’s a health violation!” But they wouldn’t stop.

And then… my alarm went off. What a dream, eh? It’s true I’ve had craft fairs on the brain; I’m anxious about our upcoming Craft Happy show, and with each day that passes I get more so. I’m delighted to be sharing a booth with Jinny, but I’m worried about my inventory and whether we’ll have enough time to be able to pull off our cool booth-layout ideas. Last time it took me an entire month of 14-hour days (or thereabouts) to make up my FabMo stock, and even then I didn’t have a whole ton of stuff. I’m not willing to put in that kind of time again, and though I’m fretting about the fair, I also refuse to allow myself into weeks of self-torment trying to make everything perfect. So where does that leave me? I’m not sure. I think I just need to make more progress on my inventory, and reread my planning document more often so I can feel more confident that I’m attending to everything I need to.