Tomorrow is the second day of the county fair and I will be there with four children, somebody shoot me now.
County fairs in the heartland have been elevated to the status of a Broadway blockbuster and they boast rows of hosed-down livestock, sweet-sour homemade lemonade and cows sculpted out of butter and the public slurps it up. This is the land of deep-fried twinkies and swarthy carnies who swindle innocents out of allowance money and make them think they are inadequate because they can't pick up a rubber fish with a cheap fishing pole. My grand kids are in honors classes, jeesh, where's the logic, why expose them to this?
Whitey is a friend of my husband's from grade school days and he has a piping hot temper probably from getting pulverized by an older brother on a regular basis. He also volunteered for three tours in Viet Nam which definitely is a red flag of some sort and I remember his 50th birthday party and watching that older brother smash cake into his face forcing him against the wall breaking two picture frames. Whitey beat up a carnie after he discovered the milk bottle was glued to its stand and unable to get knocked over by his baseball. I like that story.