Tuesday, August 30, 2011
boot stomping time
What is it about barnyard friends that send home their respective scents in the form of really annoying souvenirs? After a trip to the state fair for a cattlemen's dinner where I appropriately dressed in fat hiding clothing, flip flops and sans hot pink cowboy hat (or any cowboy hat for that matter), I laid in bed last night smelling like one of those bawling lambs. We were there to celebrate the memory of Jimmy and Jeremy's dad, as he has left quite the announcing legacy with various cattle-related achievements to boot. Boot. Boots, yes I should have worn some. I left with ten pounds of cedar shavings in my sandals.
The people-watching opportunities were so abundant, I almost forgot it wasn't Halloween. Pirate ensembles, couples with coordinating lime green mulletts and mohawks, tube topped, midriff-bearing pregnant girls. I considered it my exercise for the day to walk around sweating like an animal and the effort to keep my jaw picked up off of the asphalt.
Would you believe, I didn't indulge in anything fried, despite the taunting signs displaying oreos, candy bars, cheesecake, and pickles? As it turns out, I had my fill of fried things at Jeremy & Sarah's house two nights prior where we had our own little messy carnival right in the comfort of their kitchen. As an FYI, leave Reese's Cup and KitKat frying to the professionals. Also, funnel cakes should be fried slightly more delicately than dumping batter into a puddle in the fryer, lest they resemble deep fried shreds of algae.
I am off for a battle of the best with some more blanket fabric. If I never resurface, it's because I lost my battle with my sewing machine and completely lost my mind.
Or because I'm busy with two small children. Yeah, that'd be more like it.