Miller Monday – He kissed what?
As I have already confessed in a previous blog, my wife has very deep white trash roots. While this may seem like a 100% terrible thing, it does have a few upsides. For example, a night on the town can be very inexpensive – usually Hotdog on a Stick and bowling. The converse is also quite true. Whereas most husbands are required to shower affection in the form of diamond encrusted jewelry, the only thing required at my hand is to take my wife to the fair once a year. I consider it a chance for my wife to recharge her 909 batteries. It is truly the greatest sacrifice I make for her on a routine basis.
The day was hot and muggy. Like hydrogen bombs from the sky, the heat ricocheted off the pavement and nipped at my ankles and knees. The intensity of said heat made the asphalt beneath my feet ooze like black jelly. Every step I took seemed to raise my concern that this year was going to bad as last year at the Orange County Fair. “At least I have still got my out,” I thought looking down on my 18 month year old son. As much as my wife loves the fair, even she couldn’t justify dragging my son into purgatory for more than a few hours.
As I approached the ticket booth I noticed two things. First, I was the only man with a shirt on and lacking any form of body art and piercings. Second, they had raised the price of admission by two dollars a head. I am typically not too finicky over ticket prices but as I turned to raise my concern with my “sweetie” she had apparently, while trying to stay one step ahead of my complaints, whipped out a coupon eliminated my chance to bolt on cost alone. I whipped out a fresh twenty and begrudgingly handed it along with our coupon to the funny looking man in the booth. He returned the coupon to me having circled the fine print only allowing a discount on a weekday. It was too late at that point to ask for my money back, before I could even look up he handed me my change; four dollars. Already, sixteen dollars in the hole, we entered the steel prison walls of the Orange County fair.
The most noticeable difference from the fair this year as compared to previous years was the theme “Cowabunga.” I’m sure the attempt to meld surf culture with agriculture seemed like such a beautiful idea on paper. In practice, however, it meant that you could not get away from the stench of cow manure where ever you went. Amplified not only be the intensity of the heat that day, the stench of death followed us relentlessly. Much like acclimating to high altitude I waited until my nose hairs stop burning as an indicator that I would no longer need to cover my hand as we walked through the grounds.
My wife ran erratically from booth to booth trying to determine what was the “best thing” to eat at the fair. She settled on Mexico corn, the kind that you only see Mexican’s eating at the fair, replete with butter, salt, and some sort of hot chili powder. I on the other hand began noticing all of the fine culinary entrees offered at the fair were dipped in grease and fried over intense heat. You name it, they fry it: Twinkies, Oreos, Snickers bars, hot dogs, zucchini, carrots, potatoes, onions, turkey legs, cake batter, pretzels, three musketeers, and then I saw it – fried coke. While my curiosity almost got the best of me, as I walked over to see what on the earth fried coke looked like, (do you drink it along with the grease? Does it solidify at extreme temperatures) I made the determination that I did not want to know.
My wife’s corn cost another five dollars so I am now $21 dollars in the hole. Still we dove deeper in to the heart of darkness. The next stop was finding something for my son to eat. Most people would find it really stupid to pay so much to enter the fairgrounds only to have overpaid for a terrible meal. Not my wife. We first purchased a corndog for my son because as many of you know well – I love em. Unfortunately, that intense love of corndogs did not transfer genetically to my firstborn. Another six dollars wasted. My wife suggested that we buy him a pulled pork sandwich for another $7.50. He hated that too. What he did like, was the lemonade that only cost me $4.50 (I went for the small). I’ve already dropped $39 and I haven’t had anything to eat. My wife sensing my frustration decided to duck into the first event tent she could find – the Bug exhibit. I hate bugs. I don’t even want to talk about it. I’m going to leave out the next exhibit because it detracts from my argument that the Orange County Fair is hell on earth, and because my son actually liked it (the Turtle Exhibit).
We were ready for a bathroom break, and as my wife ran in to take care of business I held my son and bounced him up and down. It was a hot day and I could feel my t-shirt clinging to my body. As I looked around every other “gentlemen” had already removed their shirts. Determined not to follow suit, I tried to think cold thoughts. And then it hit me. I suddenly started to feel a little cooler. I was still wet, but I was at least feeling cooler. Thinking I had just discovered some ancient Sherpa technique for lowering core body temperature I put a smug little smile on my face and waited for my wife to brag to her about my accomplishment. When she exited the bathroom however she immediately started laughing. Apparently, my son had urinated all over me.
Determined not to let it get to me I trudged forward, hungry, $39 dollars lighter, and drenched in my little sons urine. We stopped at the petting zoo. Little Joshua loved the little piggies, goats, and cows. What really fascinated him, however, was the camel. I turned to my wife to express how funny it was that he loved the camel so much, as I turned back I found my son with in micrometers of French kissing the camel. His mouth agape, his eyes closed, my son wanted to see what a camel tasted like. AND THAT IS WHERE I DREW THE LINE. I totally lost it. I poured hand sanitizer into his mouth just in case one of those long tenticular camel whiskers brushed the inside of his mouth. I found the nearest exit and did not look back. I do not blame child protective services if they feel that we are not fit parents for my son.
Unfortunately there is no cure for being white trash and the best I can hope for is another year of the same at the Orange County Fair.
Entry filed under: Miller Monday.