My wife and I made our yearly migration to the County Fair last week. My wife, due to her pregnant condition, is easily attracted there. I go with her because usually the clothes she wears don't have pockets sufficient to carry the amount of cash to purchase funnel cake that matches prefectly the size of our dining table. So off we go to the land where a high amount of cash can buy you anything that you could've just bought at the dollar store the day before.
The instant we walk in "Man" things ambush my attention. Motorcycles line one side of the walkway. Although I have never in fact ridden a motorcycle in my life, except for the pocketbike I owned in high school, (google pocketbike if you don't know what I am talking about) my mouth still instantly starts to drool. I don't know how those fair people do it. It's either the faint noise of baby goats bleating in the background or the sound of children barfing on the tilt a' whirl behind me.
For whatever the reason, I have just come up with a million logical reasons why I need a motorcycle for the upcoming wintertime. Then, by some unknown force, I am pulled to the left and before me is a forest of the most brilliant gleaming hot tubs set out in a perfectly in the sun. Those things were nice. The magenta one especially caught my eye. I'm pretty sure that our bedroom is big enough to fit a magenta hot tub in it. We'd have to swab for a twin size bed, but sometimes, sacrifices brings blessings. To say the least, I think my wife really was onto something coming to the fair. After my wife, with her miraculous powers, picks me up and drags me across the walkway, I see the final fair artifact that makes my heart burst.
A motorhome. Not just any motorhome mind you. A motorhome that is being foreclosed by the bank, so you know it's cheaper than the rest and therefore, more affordable to me. A side note mind you to help you understand why this motorhome would intrigue me so. You see, I can't stand camping. Wait, you can't stand camping and you got your Eagle Scout? (your mom got your eagle scou?) Yes. And the reason I can't stand it is because I got my eagle scout.
You would think twice about camping too if you had big plans to go to a friends house, play halo and grab a grande meal at 3 am to have your hopes dashed. Instead, I spent the weekend in wooly mammoth temperatures and then had all Sunday afternoon to myself in the bathtub waiting for my feet to thaw. So with a motorhome, I wouldn't have to wait until I got home to thaw my feet. See where I am going with this?
Unfortunately, the pockets I had that day were not big enough to purchase the (treats) I desired. So I was once again brisked away and away we went deep into the jungles of the fair. We enjoyed the paintings from amateurs and wished we were amateur enough to make a human skeleton out of metal as well. We tried on hand creams, bought some fudge and somehow talked ourselves out of a "free" massage.
Then we finally came to the main event we had all been waiting for. The hypnotist. I still remember the kids running up to the stage jumping up and down screaming to become zombified. The hypnotist told them they had to be 12 and by some magic, they ALL said they were twelve. Finally, the group was set, he put them under, they danced, they saw people naked and their butts fell off. For the final act, he took a little doll, (I think its origins were from New Orleans) and when the doll raised his arm, they raised their arms, when the doll shook, they shook, when he pricked the dolls buttocks they grabbed theirs in pain. What a glorious show the hypnotist show was. Truly mesmerizing and fun for all ages.
The funny thing is, I don't know if I hear baby goats bleating in the background or the next door neighbor's kid barfing, but for some reason, something is telling me inside, that when we make our migration to the fair next year, I'm gonna need to bring some bigger pockets.
