Last evening, I announced to Pookie that the girl child and I wanted him to take us to the Fair.
His response was a resounding…well, whatever sound an annoyed grunt makes. Suffice to say, he wasn’t really excited about it.
So we head out early this afternoon, in the scorching heat, because Mother Nature was just fucking with us last week when it almost felt like Fall outside. I hate that bitch.
As soon as we got there, I signed up for a raffle to win a drivable Lightning McQueen for the little man. Which I would LOVE to give him for his birthday, but Pookie won’t let me buy him one from the store because they are eleventy million dollars. Yet another example of how unreasonable the man is. Y’all keep your fingers crossed that I win the raffle. Or your toes. Or your eyes, if you wish to be supportive and amusing.
We gorged ourselves on such delicacies as gator on a stick, sausage on a stick and catfish on a stick. Because we are a family of gourmands, that’s why. I also made Pookie buy me a funnel cake, which I took two bites of and then gave to a friend of the girl child. Because he looked skinny and hungry. And also because I was going to explode if I took another bite. (side note to girl who made the funnel cake: Believe it or not, there is a limit to how much powdered sugar should be on a funnel cake. Find that limit and work within it, please. Funnel cake killing bitch.)
We also drank our combined weight in lemonade. Many, many lemons died in our quest for hydration. We salute you, you brave little yellow bastards.
We’ve now been home for quite some time, and I still want to punch anyone who mentions food, we’re all exhausted, and we’re quite a bit broker.
I really do hate it when he’s right.