Kyle is adamant that Fair fish won't live. Alison threw a ping pong ball into a too-tiny goldfish bowl eight feet away from her that was crowded between about 200 other bowls, which made her dunk even more amazing. So she won two goldfish that were dumped into a Ziploc with what I can only hope is treated water. It is the State Fair after all.
We mostly go to the fair to watch people. At the risk of sounding like someone who is too big for her britches, the people-watching is much more interesting than the livestock, cake decorating contest winners, or even the butterfly tent. I'm not better than anyone at the Fair, just more boring. I'm too self-conscious to eat a foot-long turkey leg, and too pragmatic to wear high heeled boots with short shorts and a camisole. I can't stomach a deep fried Twinkie, but I'll stand and watch a couple share one until the last bite has been plopped into her mouth. Some people carry their children on their shoulders, and others opt for the cute stuffed animal harness with the child leash attached. Some like a tall beer (or three), others a "fresh squeezed" lemonade. The people that amaze me the most, however, are those who succumbed to the automated barker who lured crowds into the snake lady exhibit. "How did this come be?" the voice shouted above the crowd. "This beautiful woman who has the body of a snake must be seen to be believed!" So the people pay their dollar, and walk in. Who are these people and why are they taken in by this? Isn't it obvious that this is nothing but freak show trickery?
I joined the interesting people for just a moment as I paid my dollar to see the poor woman, who the barker says has "no bones." Snakes, I am certain, have bones and this should have been my first clue. But what drew me in was not the promise of seeing this freakish woman, but the barker's assurance that we would finally know her sad story. We could ask her questions, he yelled. And, finally, we would learn the truth of her unbelievable life. I'm a sucker for a story, so in I went, and climbed up on the short step to peer into the round cage that was draped in something like a mosquito net.
And there she was, situated in the middle with her head poking out of an elevated mound of snake body. She had curly blond hair, and I envisioned her sitting cross-legged on the floor underneath the phony prop that surrounded her. The snake lady was wearing ear buds and looked bored. There was no asking questions of this woman who was probably drawing minimum wage for the hours she sat ringed by the snake body, jamming to her music and hiding behind her sunglasses. I was disappointed because this woman most certainly had a story. We all have a story, I know that, but some stories are just far more interesting than others. I was sure the snake lady would be able to spin a tale, but I didn't want to shout questions at her over an MP3 player and some things are probably best left to mystery. So I climbed down off the stairs and went to watch my daughter throw ping pong balls into a goldfish bowl. I hate to be boring, but watching my little girl walk away with a prize was a highlight of the day. Here's to Fair fish longevity and the world of people out there who are far more interesting than me. I'll look forward to seeing them again next year.
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