Sally Breslin: My Life: I'VE ALWAYS HAD FUN AT CONCORD'S MARKET DAYS FESTIVAL

I was pleased to hear that Concord’s annual Market Days Festival, its 47th, is going to be held again this year on August 19. 20 and 21.

I’ve always enjoyed Market Days and have gone every year for practically as long as Concord has held them – back when they were called Bargain Days. It’s always fun to stroll down Main Street, which is closed to traffic during the event, and shop at the booths and tables that line both sides of the street and sell everything from exotic foods and handcrafted jewelry to half-price shoes and clothes.

And then there’s the entertainment that can feature just about anything you can imagine – dancers, bands, karate demonstrations, jugglers, karaoke singers, cloggers, unicycle riders and much more.

The only problem is that nearly every year for as long as I can remember, the Market Days celebration has been held during the hottest days of the summer. I recall one year in particular when it must have been 102 degrees in the shade. The chocolates and fudge in the candy booths rapidly turned into hot-fudge sauce, and the frozen treats from the ice-cream vendors looked like drinks in cones before they even reached the people’s mouths.

One year, when it was uncharacteristically cool during Market Days, I made a really dumb decision to take my rottweiler, Willow, to the event with me. There always were plenty of dogs strolling down Main Street with their families, so I thought it might be a good place to try to socialize her a bit, seeing we lived way out in the country where she rarely saw many other dogs or humans.

It never crossed my mind that people might fear a dog that stood about 30 inches high and weighed nearly 120 pounds.

The minute Willow and I started to walk down the middle of Main Street, I realized that maybe she wasn’t going to have the joyful afternoon of socializing I’d imagined she’d have. The fact that people practically fell over each other jumping out of the way and little children ran screaming to their parents the minute they spotted Willow approaching was a pretty good clue. Had I been walking a skunk on a leash, the reaction couldn’t have been much worse.

Finally, a man approached us. “What a bee-yoo-ti-ful dog!” he gushed, looking truly awed. “Please, may I pat her?”

“Sure, go right ahead,” I told him.

The minute he touched Willow, she was in love, cuddling up to him and wagging. Onlookers watched this man as if he were a lion tamer about to thrust his head into the lion’s mouth. When they saw he’d managed to actually touch Willow without losing any major body parts, a few of them walked over and also asked to pat her. Willow was in her glory.

Then came the man with a pitbull. The two dogs locked eyes. Willow wagged. The pitbull didn’t.

“Is your dog friendly?” I asked the guy.

“Oh yes, he’s just a big pussycat,” he answered.

He brought his dog closer to Willow. They sniffed each other and everything seemed fine…until the pitbull decided to growl and sink his teeth into Willow’s ear. The growling match that followed attracted a group of people who probably thought dog wrestling was part of the entertainment.

“Gee, my dog’s never done that before,” the guy said, yanking his pitbull away. “Is your dog OK?”

There was no blood anywhere, so the only thing injured was Willow’s pride.

I decided it was time to go find a bench, have a seat and give Willow a drink of water. I found the perfect bench in the shade in Eagle Square and sat down in the center of it. Then I pulled a bottle of water and a plastic bowl out of my bag and Willow and I both had a drink. At one end of the bench was a stone wall on which two women were seated. Another woman soon joined them and sat on the end of the bench…where she kept leaning toward the wall to talk to the other two women. In her right hand was an ice cream cone, which she wasn’t paying attention to as she chatted with her friends. Every time she spoke, she unknowingly waved her hand with the cone in it…right in Willow’s face.

Before I could blink, the woman’s scoop of ice cream had vanished. Frantic, I searched the ground, hoping to see the ice cream lying there. But the only evidence as to where it had gone was a very happy-looking rottweiler with vanilla ice cream all over the end of her nose.

The woman turned to eye her cone, which was empty, and then glared at me, as if she thought I was the one who’d stolen it.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “My dog ate your ice cream. I’ll buy you another one.”

“Um, that’s OK,” she said, smiling tightly. “I really didn’t need the calories anyway.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon steering Willow away from food-carrying kids who were her height. The ice-cream snatching incident made me realize that no slice of pizza or hot dog was safe anywhere within three feet of her face.

Not only do I enjoy searching for bargains every year at Market Days, I also enjoy watching other people search for bargains. I never cease to be surprised at the number of people who will buy an item just because it’s on sale.

For example, there was one woman who was holding up a floral dress that looked as if it had been made for a Barbie doll.

“Isn’t this dress just darling?” she called out to her friend, who was looking at a display of earrings nearby. “And it’s half price! Think I should buy it to wear to the anniversary party this weekend?”

Her friend’s expression clearly revealed that she thought that if by some miracle the woman actually could manage to squeeze her body into that dress for the anniversary party, it would take the Jaws of Life to extricate her from it. Still, she replied, “Half price! You’d be a fool to pass up a bargain like that!”

At another tent that featured discounted brand-new footwear, a boy was trying on a pair of popular brand-name sneakers that were marked down from $79 to $24.95.

How do they feel?” his mother asked.

“They’re way too big” he answered. “My feet nearly come right out of them when I walk, even with the laces tied tight.”

“Well, I’m not passing them up at that price,” the mother said. “You’ll grow into them.”

I figured that by the time the kid was 30, he might be able to wear them…but only if his feet grew to be about the size of Paul Bunyan’s.

So I really am looking forward to attending the event once again this year…if the temperature’s not 102 degrees. And I won’t be making any frivolous purchases just because an item is on sale. Nope, no way.

I mean, those glittery blue socks with the unicorns on them I bought the last time I went were absolute necessities.

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Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines for most of her adult life. She is the author of several novels, including: “There’s a Tick in my Underwear!” “Heed the Predictor” and “Inside the Blue Cube.” Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.