Sunday, July 12, 2009

All's fair at the fair

You know you’re getting country when you feel for the county fair the way you did for Christina Aguilera's "Back to Basics" concert: stoked to the bone. I feel especially country since I grew up in a county that was so uninterested in fairs that it no longer held one.


Truth is, I’ve attended fairs before. Big and small. If I had a slice of bread for every trip I'm made to the Iowa State Fair, its butter cow would no longer exist. You'd think my fair experiences once or twice a year would wean me from my fear of farm animals. But no.


Farm animals scare me. I don’t care what you say. They’re evil and they hate women with pretty shoes.


I know this because when I lived in Ireland, I visited my Irish roommate's dairy farm. There, some mama cow spotted me and gave me a look that said "Stay the eff of my milking parlour, ya heifer." That cow was a girl, but if I’m not mistaken, her head sprouted horns, just for me. You win! You win! I screamed, sprinting into a closet and NOT EVEN CARING about the manure on my dress flats. I cowered there until Samantha P. assured me the cow was preoccupied with hand cuffs suction cups on her nether regions.


Somehow, I survived. But the trauma of that day has never left me.


So while I anticipate the fair like a little kid counts down the days until Santa, me and the living exhibits aren't exactly Facebook friends.


I take that back. The plants are ok.


But I’m pretty sure the little 4-Hers showing horses, cattle and even rabbits are in more danger than if they hopped on the ferris wheel and didn’t wear a seat belt. I mean, WHERE ARE THEIR PARENTS??


So naturally, since I’d volunteered to cover the fair every day this week, I had to see the livestock. Every animal was caged, roped or bound in some manner, so I thought I’d survive.


I didn’t.





Can't you see how that chicken it trying to bite my head off? I’ve never heard of man-eating chickens, just man eating chickens, but I’m pretty sure this dude wanted pay back.


In fact, they all did. Every time I LOOKED at one of them, they’d bawk or bite or inflate their feathers. One was puffed so big it looked like a marshmallow in a microwave.


I was so disgruntled a ate a hot dog for dinner. That way I could get back at ALL the animals in the same meal.


Revenge (covered in mustard) is sweet.

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