I truly am in denial. The oldest urchin starts first grade next week. I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to do all the back to school necessities and jam in as much summer as possible.
All at the same time.
And in the midst of my self-created chaos I realized something. I didn't report back on the backyard carny action. How rude of me!
It'll have to be a quick preliminary run-down.
First and foremost, I'd like to thank the family man who expanded my vocabulary the very first night. This wiry fellow with the motorcycle boots and stringy grey goatee toured the midway with his arm around his Harley Mama as his two delightful little girls fought and whined down the middle of everything. He sported a delightful tee shirt. In that neo nazi lettering, you know the font, it harkens back to WWII Germany, read the following words: crotch cannibal.
I'll leave the Google search to you.
The fried cuisine was exquisite, the carnies were wonderfully colorful, and the rides were sufficiently amusing. More details to come. For now, I'll leave you with my musings from last year, in which I defiantly proclaim that There's A Lid For Every Pot.
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