Que Sera Sera


Dear The Fair,

First of all, I feel like I owe you an apology for snubbing you all these years. It was really my dad’s fault, because when we were little and clamored to go visit you, he’d always say, “It’s our family tradition to not go to the fair,” and we just accepted that. Then when I was in college and my boyfriend longed for your Indian tacos and Tilt-a-Whirl, I totally blew him off. But oh, The Fair… those days are past. This weekend has shown me the error of my ways. I promise never to neglect you again.

Now that I have seen you in all your glory, and tasted some of your wares—well, let’s pause there for a moment. I agree, the corndog and pretzel and lemonade and funnel cake were all divine, but a deep fat-fried Twinkie? It was like the corndog raped a poor unsuspecting Hostess product, and then it had the audacity to burn my tongue. And don’t even try to appease me with a deep fat-fried Oreo. The spongey, slutty Twinkie may be asking for it, but the Oreo is a noble treat, and I won’t abet your mistreating of it.

I’m sorry. Where were we? The sights and sounds! Like most snotty college graduates, I savor any opportunity to snicker at my fellow Americans, and you offered up the girls named Kayla by the boatload, and for that, I must thank you. That toddler with his fly down in the leprechaun mask holding the giant plush alien doll was an especially nice touch. So was the BIGGEST PIG, although I must ask, the biggest pig of what? The fair? If so, kudos. Otherwise, I think maybe next year you should do a little further searching. It was cute of you to place him in between the Polish sausage and corndog stands, though. The Fair, you certainly have an eye for details.

Has anyone ever told you what a whirlwind you are? I got so caught up in your atmosphere, I somehow came home with a newly-purchased $13 cowboy hat. Was I so drunk with my new-found crush on you that I did something so unlike myself? Or was it just that I was actually drunk and the guy selling the cowboy hats was cute and flirty? Either way, I now have something to wear next weekend when I visit your cousin, The Monster Truck Rally. I’ll tell him you said hello. I’ll also give a shout-out to Mini Me, who will evidently be hosting it, in some bizarre ironic twist.

Of all my moments with you, I really loved the part where the face painting man suddenly seized my hand while I stood between Lauren and Emily and said seductively in his vague foreign tongue, “You want? You want? I do these two butterflies, but you are dragon.” The Fair, you know that totally made my night. Nay, perhaps my weekend. He was so right: I am dragon! Why is it that no one else has noticed this before?

Thank you for the opportunity to ride the mechanical bull, and I know all those nice gentlemen were encouraging me to so because of my new hat, but I knew that I was also wearing my Vans, and that Levis commercial was so last year. And thank you also for the sculpture made out of butter, and all the hot tub and four wheeler displays, and especially for leading me to my long-sought-after vanity plate with the purple cobra and the name Lola. The Fair, it’s like you know the secret wishes of my heart! It’s so eerie, I am seriously kind of freaked out. But in a good way.

Anyway, I should probably wrap this up now, but don’t worry: I’ll try to make it back later this week for your Skid Row concert, but I wouldn’t waste your time looking for me at the Village People show. If you want, maybe we could meet behind the Scrambler and make out instead? Let me know. I’ll be the one in the cowboy hat.

Yours truly,
Sarah B.

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