I love the fair. Every year it comes to town. Same old (dodgy) rides, same deliciously unhealthy food, same wicked cold weather. (I’m a Floridian — we break out the winter coats as soon as the temp hits 60 degrees.)
I used to go often as a child. It was this big family thing. My grandparents and aunts would take my cousins and me each year. Was some of the most fun I’d ever had. Makes me sad that it’ll never be like that again. Grandma’s gone, and most of my cousins have their own babies to tend to.
So this year was quite different for me. I’ve never gone with someone I was seeing before. It’s nice. When the chilly breeze seems to blow right through you, you’ve got someone tall and warm to wrap your arms around you.
Or to offer you piggy back rides when your feet get tired.
And when you ride the ferris wheel, you’ve got someone to cuddle and kiss…
…and to encourage you to strip on the pole in the middle of our gondola. How romantic.
One thing I never noticed as a child, though (because I never had to), is how ridiculously expensive fair food is. My goodness!
I even wore my special elastic-waisted pants for the occasion (not really.) I was all set to eat loads of corn dogs and funnel cakes and deep-fried everything….but the prices somewhat deterred me. I digress.
Looking down from the ferris wheel, it seems such a magical place. All the bright, flashing colors; joyful screams; blasting music…
Shame it’s only once a year. I suppose that’s what makes it feel even more “special” though.