This weekend my Saturday was dedicated to The Fair (also known as The Puyallup and this year the Washington State Fair). The Fair literally put Puyallup on the map, and the only legitimate reason to go there is to eat something fried and proceed to throw it up after getting wild on the Tilt-a-Whirl.
As a kid, my mom made The Fair an annual tradition. She’d pack up all five cousins (how did we fit in the car? We didn’t have an SUV…) and we would spend one full day getting a sugar buzz followed by stomach ache walking the As Seen on TV pavilions and riding rides. Her three Fair rules are as follows:
1. Eat as much junk food as possible
2. Ride as many rides as you can
3. Close the place down
As an adult, reason for going to The Fair has evolved. Usually centered around a concert – this year our reason for going was the Rodeo Playoffs followed by a Trace Adkins concert. Instead of eating as much junk as possible, we now focus on drinking the caloric equivalent in Bud Light.
Because our focus is on cowboy butts and beer, we were sure to be there RIGHT when the gates opened to secure a clutch spot in the beer garden.
YES. It was awesome.
By concert time, I had a light beer buzz, sore feet and tired eyes. Naturally, 9:30pm is more bed time than Go Time for me but I pulled it together. Boyfriend and my cousin (aka Driver) patiently waited while E and I sang, danced and went to the bathroom more times than I can remember. Apparently I was well hydrated. During my 300th trip to the Lou, I patiently waited in line though I would have been more than happy to drop trou in the bushes if it emptied my bladder more quickly (alas, alcohol enforcement was out). I was finally next in line, when a Lady in Red came up and awkwardly stood next to me.
Here’s the thing, Lady-Lou cutting is not cool. I get it, you’re gonna burst, but that’s what Keigal exercises are for. And women, especially women in Wranglers, are not keen on cutters. So, the
gawks and mumbles started almost immediately.
Almost serendipitously the next stall that opened was her target. She rushed the door so fast I couldn’t even say, “it’s not your tuuuuuurn! I have to peeeeeee!” All of a sudden there was beer pouring, face slapping and more squabbling that a flock of seagulls. Red was screaming, “FUCK WITH MY HUSBAND AGAIN AND I WILL HURT YOU!” while her victim’s posse was trying to pull her away.
I turned to the woman behind me and said, “is this seriously happening” and her respond was, “here…hold my stuff.” She piled her purse and what not on me and headed for the stalls to join the action.
What? A bathroom brawl? Are you kidding me? A mascara running, beer-drenched hair and bitch-screaming brawl that reminded me of that scene from My Best Friend’s Wedding when Cameron Diaz goes all don’t-steal-my-man-bitch on Julia Roberts.
The victim of all of this didn’t want to press charges (guilt-stricken maybe?) and after finally getting to go potty I found Red returning to the scene frantically looking for HER WEDDING RING. That’s right in all of her open-palm slapping and hair pulling, this crazy lost her WEDDING RING. How do you explain that to your insurance agent?
Moral of the story: don’t get in bathroom brawls, you’ll loose shit.