a day at the fair

Last week, G sent the following e-mail to C, M, and me:

I just won four tickets to the Ventura County Fair (with thirty ride tickets thrown in for good measure)! Cotton candy, haunted houses, kettle corn, huge-donged livestock: something for everyone! Any or all of you up for a little quasi-costless carny caper?

Um, hell to the mothereffin’ YES!

The day was a resounding success. Real animals were cooed over. Stuffed animals were won. Copious amounts of food were crammed into maws. I began my food extravaganza with a cup of freshly squeezed lemonade and an ear of roasted sweet corn, and for dinner, I had BBQ chicken, french fries, and beans.

“Oh, great, beans,” G said. “That ought to make bedtime interesting.”

“Excuse me?” I barked, pointing at his dinner. “That burrito ain’t filled with Beano, mister.”

“What are you going to have for dessert?” C asked.

I set down my fork to contemplate this weighty question. “Hmmm…you know, I’m thinking of choosing something from the deep-fried family, like a deep-fried Snickers, Twinkie, or Oreo. Extra points for whipped cream and/or caramel.”

We walked to the midway to scope out rides. Unfortunately, in my old age, I can’t really do the hardcore rides anymore, which ruled out anything that went upside down or looked too whiplashy.

Then, like a blessing from heaven, IT appeared:





“Ohmygod!” I squealed, grabbing G’s hand and pulling him towards the line. “Zombieszombieszombies!”

Unfortunately, the scariest thing about the ride was the dead-eyed old man taking tickets. We laughed hysterically at the glowing skulls and lame mannequins inside. I did jump when a hand suddenly reached out across our car, but other than that, it was about as terrifying as a wet kitten.

Afterwards, we continued our quest for my dream dessert, and then I saw a pink banner that said “Muffin-Size Cupcakes!”

“Oh dearest Jesus,” I moaned, hand flying dramatically to chest. “I have found my sugar fix for the night.”

“Are you sure?” G asked. “Didn’t you want something deep-fried?”

“Well, we haven’t seen anything like that, and I have to have something unhealthy immediately. I require a cupcake the size of my head.”

Dear reader, I wish I had taken a picture of my cupcake, but I was too busy nomming it to death. It was red velvet topped off with a glorious crown of cream cheese frosting dusted with pink sugar. Despite its glorious girth, I polished it off in less than a minute. It was infinitely superior to the dry clod of cupcake that I had at Magnolia Bakery, and I didn’t even care that we found a shrine to the Fryolator arts just moments later. I had had my foodgasm for the night.

We walked past a souvenir booth, and I stopped dead in my tracks. "Inflatable Batman!" I cried. "I totally want an inflatable Batman!"

"Now what would you do with an inflatable Batman?" G asked suspiciously.

"I would..." I bit my lip and shivered with delight. "I would MENACE him."

"No inflatable Batman," G said firmly, steering me away.

The fair began winding down at 9:30, so G and I took a ride on the Ferris wheel. To the left of us, we could see moonlight dancing on the ocean; to the right of us, we saw the lights of the midway.





When our car stopped at the top, we nestled against each other for warmth. I was chilly, my chin was greasy, my fingers were sticky, and the salt air had turned my hair into a halo of snarls, but I don’t think I could have been any happier.