At a small WV town–probably an oxymoron–Saturday for my daughter’s band gig. I love to use the word “gig.” Anyway, it was so hot–desert hot–and the breezes were lacking in force and frequency.
So, just as the band was readying themselves to play, behind them–no more than ten yards–a group of scantly dressed men and one equally scantly-dressed aging woman, were readying themselves for a family-fun evening of wrestling matches, set atop a large rectangular-shaped sparring ring, complete with a regulation-dressed referee.
To understand fully the beauty of irony, the band was of a Christian-rock nature. When they started the set, most were hanging out at the other venue. Into their second song, many had made their way over to hear a different kind of message.
The heat was scorching, but we weren’t the only things being fried. My daughter and her boyfriend decided to troll the food vendors and came back meeting most of the fair food pyramid: fried oreos, fried banana with chocolate sauce; and the vegetable course–fried sour pickle chips. Kaukab would not have approved. The only thing fried on her table were pieces of cauliflower, fish, or octopus–sans top dressing. Not quite the same, is it?
I tried the pickle chips. Not bad. The banana was better. Didn’t have the heart to ask for a bite of the oreo. They were enjoying them too much. They ended the evening with heaps of snow cones. Gotta love the fair.
P.S. Would’ve brought the camera, if I had known where we were going.
Apologies to all.