Trying to impress a certain young lady, I asked her to go to the State Fair.
The day was beautiful with a gentle cool breeze. I had a parking pass and fair tickets, so there was no inconvenience as we parked near the Music Hall.
The smells of fried foods and cotton candy filled the air as we walked across the grounds, under a bright sun on a wonderful fall Saturday afternoon. I was trying desperately to impress her, so I pointed out the few things I knew about the fair, but tended to expand my limited knowledge with stories of regalia.
Since part of my income is derived from writing auto columns, I suggested we visit the different auto pavilions where my understanding of cars might be enhanced and I could appear more impressive. After about an hour, she indicated she needed to go to the rest room. I told her I would wait near the Ford SUV section for her. After about ten minutes she had not returned, so I went over to the ladies restroom where I stood outside the restroom doors for a while until a police officer told me to move along. I told him I was waiting for a lady, and he responded that “We all are, now move along.”
I went back to the Ford Trucks, but still couldn’t find her. I felt I could think clearer if I could just eat something. So I journeyed over and bought a turkey leg about the size of New Hampshire, and a root beer. With all this nutritional food, I again became concerned about my date. She was nowhere to be found, and it appeared the ladies restroom was staked out by the friendly police officer. So I went to the Fletcher’s Corny Dog stand to see if she might be there. She wasn’t, but I left with three corny dogs just in case I found her and she was hungry. After looking and eating for about an hour, I came to the conclusion she may have became lost. But where do you go to report your date being lost? I saw an information booth right next to the frozen lemonade stand. Two lemonades helped me to frame my question to the lady working the booth.
“Excuse me Ma’am, but I am looking for my date,” I said in my most professional manner as I tried to get frozen lemonade off my shirt. “What does she look like,” asked the matronly information worker?” “Well, she is about this tall,” I said, raising my hand to about shoulder level. “She is real cute and has kind of blonde and black two-toned hair, and she is carrying a purse.” “Well Mister, you have just described about 100,000 women at the fair today.” “Well,” I continued, “She wearing white sandals and her toenails are painted red.” The lady rolled her eyes and asked me to move along. I wondered secretly to myself if she was married to the police officer near the ladies bathroom.
All this conversation made me hungry, so I ate two German waffles, and drank another root beer. The next few hours are a blur. All I can recall is worrying myself sick and trying to cope with the dilemma by eating an assortment of fair foods.
As the lights came on across the fair grounds that evening, I made one last attempt to find my date by going back to the Ford Pavilion. Then I saw her standing next to the police officer near the restroom. I was so startled I dropped my popcorn and red snow cone. She wasn’t smiling when she saw me. Walking across the fairgrounds, I tried to tell her what had happened, and that I was sorry she got lost. She wouldn’t talk. But she made rude comments like, “You have mustard on your chin, red syrup on your shirt, you reek of cotton candy, and you have one shoe missing.”
I tried to explain that I had eaten a few items to handle the pressure of losing her. She appeared skeptical. On the ride home she made several phone calls. I couldn’t quite make out what the conversation was, but I did make out a few words, like “idiot,” “ fool,” and “pig,” and statements like, “Are you kidding, never again.” By the time I got her home, I managed to get the red from the snow cone off my lips and most of the cotton candy out of my hair.
Walking her up on the porch, I had hopes of a good night kiss. For some reason she seemed resistant. Then I remembered something. I backed away and reached in my pocket, and offered her my treasure. I had sequestered away a few pieces of taffy. It had melted a little in my pocket, but a couple of pieces were still wrapped. I had just reached to hand her these precious jewels, when she kicked me right where the taffy had been. Only lower. For a moment I thought I was back at the fair as the porch appeared to light up. She slammed the door and I crawled back to the car. After all I had been through and she treated me that way.
Well, the night was young. The fair was still open and the pain had moved from that more personal place back to my stomach. Maybe a couple more of those dollar hotdogs at the Old Mill Inn, topped off with a caramel apple, would help me forget. All and all, I had a pretty good time.
Durhl Caussey is a syndicated columnist who writes for papers across America. He may be reached at this paper or Fax # 972-709-6989 or dcaussey@sbcglobal.net.