State Fair

Every year, Patricia and I go to the NC State Fair in Raleigh. We’ve been doing this for a decade or more. We went on Sunday. It was PACKED!  We kept saying “Why aren’t these people in church?” Last year, Sunday morning was great to avoid the crowds - this is the Baptist Bible Belt after all. This year, pews must have been empty state-wide.

It was also 50 degrees. I was in a long-sleeved tee, a thermal pullover and capri pants. Patricia wore jeans over long johns, a long-sleeved tee, a thermal vest, a fleece pullover, wool socks and a hat. Her vest was battery-heated. I didn't know you could buy battery-heated clothes. “Patricia, we are at the fair, not an overnight trek up Everest.” She responded by spitefully snapping her vest on low.

We always follow the same routine. We park about the same place and follow the same route through the attractions. We know where all the best porta-potties are. Porta-potty visits took an extra 5 minutes this year, for Patricia to navigate all her layers and not electrocute herself.

In all our years to the fair, we have never had a deep fried novelty. No Twinkie, Reese’s cup, Snickers, Oreo. This year we decided to try one. How can we claim to be State Fair Buffs without doing this?  As we passed vendor after vendor, we thought about what we would be trying. I know the Twinkies are popular, but I don’t like regular Twinkies, so a deep fried one had no appeal. I knew I would have to select something chocolately, although deep fried melty chocolate also seems gross to me. I picked the deep fried Snickers thinking the peanuts would save me. Patricia chose the Twinkie.

We each passed $5 to the vendor and admired our purchases. They looked the same. They were dusted in powdered sugar and seemed harmless enough. Then I picked it up. It weighed a ton, and tried to slide off the stick because it was so gooey inside. My first bite was cautious, and my mouth filled with fried dough and sugar. YUM. The second bite was like a hot peanut brownie explosion and dough and sugar. Not that great. Not horrible, but not great. My taste buds were processing this hot mess, and I remembered why I don't like hot brownies.

Patricia shrugged her indifference at her Twinkie, and we both agreed that we don't understand the hype behind these fried items. $5 wasted. Leaving a bite or two in the trash, we wiped our mouths and walked off. Before long, I felt the hot snickers low in my belly, coating my duodenum. It was heavy. As though I drank a gallon of paint. And not the lead-free kind. After a swig of water, the belching started. It wasn't the good kind of playful, musical belching, but the deep, slow juicy kind of belching that moves up your gullet like a lava snake and stops in your sternum, requiring two or three serious fist-on-sternum thumps to urge it up and out. Patricia flicked her vest on medium and I wished for one if it aided digestion. Why was she not soaked with sweat?

We headed into the masses in the midway. Some years we ride something spinny-whirly, but not this year. Not the belching Snickers-Twinkie Duo. Instead we sought out Whack-A-Mole. I win every time, and refer to myself as Whack-A-Mole Champion. I love whacking the crap out of mechanical moles with that ridiculous mallet. I never feel badly for crushing the hopes of my adolescent opponents. Life is tough, kids. Let the middle aged people have their small triumphs.

I chose a Minion for my prize (last year I chose Hello Kitty). We stopped by the pottery tent, always wanting to buy more than we do. We watched a demonstration of a hoverboard, and then entered the Education Building. This building is full of vendors and prizewinning preserves and always the people with political stickers. Nooooo thanks. In the corner is the Caramel Apple Lady. Her wares are dipped/rolled in chocolate and nuts and marshmallows and M&Ms and all sorts of accessories. I was glad my urge to barf had passed, because it is a joy to see all the pretty apples and their ridiculous trappings. We made our purchases, and by way of the botanical gardens, returned to Patricia's car. When we got to my house, we both got out, waddling, complaining about our stiff hips after all those hours of walking. We need orthopedic vehicles on days like this, instead of our efficient two-seaters.

Later, I settled down with a paring knife and my "Nutty Buddy" apple. The trip to the fair is not complete until the apple is gone.

My last task of the evening was to box the Minion and address it to Mom. She had visited over Labor Day weekend and asked me to explain what a Minion was and why they are all the rage. We watched Despicable Me and then she understood a little better. It cost me $3 to win the Minion and $4 to ship it, but I think it was worth it.