Stepping Out of the Boat

On Tuesday night, we went to the Monroe County Fair with my parents, an event we had both been looking forward to. The allure of the fair has always been a mystery to me - but this year, the mystery completely baffled me. All evening, these two questions riddled my mind: Why do people like competing in the fair? Why do people like going to the fair?

When you compete in the fair, you raise an animal, brush it, dress it up, and show it around - not to mention the fact that you pretty much have to spend the week in a barn. Then, after all the hullabaloo is done, you either kill and eat the animal, or sell it to some one who will kill and eat it. Where's the fun in that? If you make food for the fair, it gets judged before the fair even starts and then sits for a week getting stale and moldy while the flies have a hay day - you don't even get to eat your grand champion apple pie!

When you go to the fair, you fight through throngs of sweaty people to stand in long lines in order to pay way too much for gross and greasy food. (John gets excited about the elephant ears, but not I.) When you finally get your food, you have to stand up somewhere and scarf it down because there is nowhere to sit down. You walk through the super stinky barns and look at all the stressed out chickens and bunny rabbits, the nibbling goats, the cows, and the horses - and if you have allergies, like I do, it will reak havoc on your sinuses. Then (this is the best part) you walk through the gigantic buildings with all the booths. I could supply myself with free pens for a lifetime by making one pass through. So, at the end of it all, you have a runny nose, an upset stomach, aching feet, a whole bunch of unnecessary "freebees" that will clutter up your living space, and all your clothing and exposed skin is covered with a thin film of dirt that I'll call "fair grit". Why is this fun?

But every summer, when that time rolls around, we'll always say, "Hoorahh! It's fair time! Let's go tonight!"

All things considered, it was, at the very least, a cultural expxerience. John won a T-shirt from the National Guard because he made 28 baskets with mini-basketballs in one minute. We didn't end up seeing much of my parents, though, since they know the whole county, they stopped and talked every few feet, and we had to just leave them in our dust.