Fair's Fair

I don’t have any common sense. What little sense I have left over after slogging along for almost two decades in the parenthood trenches is eligible for placement on the Endangered Species List. So it seemed like a good idea to take the kids to the Fair.

My main role at the Fair is Watcher/Waver, with a part-time career in Holding Stuff. It is my job as the female parent to juggle the load of half-finished corn dogs, plastic souvenir soda cups, and stuffed cartoon characters won at assorted games of chance, while watching with exaggerated animation as various family members spin past in a blur of lights, waving madly as I squint through cotton-candy glazed trifocals and hoping I’m not near-sightedly greeting the sugar-coated blonde from the fishing booth or warring gang members. It’s not like I’d ride, anyway. I get motion sick just stirring sugar into my coffee.

Next year, things are going to be different. If I’m looking to make changes, what better place than the Fair? So if you happen past a middle-aged woman downing motion sickness pills with a gulp from a plastic Family Guy cup just before tackling the pony rides, hang around and watch. My dismount is bound to be a doozy. I just hope I don't drop the corn dog.