I’ve always been obsessed with flea markets. There’s something thrilling about sifting through people’s castoffs hoping for hidden treasure. That love began in childhood, spending summers with my grandmother hunting for what she called “preloved jewels.” Now, as a mother and grandmother myself, the excitement still lives in me.My husband Sam never understood it—he called my finds “hoarder junk,” and we often bickered about it. But I couldn’t stop. The thrill was too satisfying. Then one weekend, to my surprise, Sam asked to join me. A miracle! And here’s how it all began.

At a street fair, I spotted a beautiful vintage gilded egg in a little jewelry box—love at first sight! The seller wanted $25, I bargained down to $10, and I was thrilled. But when I brought it home, Sam mocked me. “You paid for this?” he scoffed, unimpressed—until I heard something rattle inside.We opened the egg and found a sparkling pair of earrings wrapped in silk. I thought they were fake, but Sam insisted they might be real. At the jeweler’s, we learned they were diamonds and emeralds set in 18-carat white gold—worth three million dollars. Now that little egg sits on our mantel, and Sam? He’s officially a flea market addict too.