Note to self

I really don't like the NYS Fair, I know this, but for some reason I seem to "forget" this fact from year to year. My sister-in-law, niece, my kids & I all spent the day at the fair today.

We park. I'm not annoyed that I have to take a shuttle bus to the gate, really I'm not. It doesn't warm my heart, but I'm not annoyed. We enter the gate. I'm even somewhat cheerful at this point. I have brought my camera and think to myself, perhaps, just perhaps, this will be fun.

We walk on. I try to conceal my disgust as I look at the cows. Geez, they're freakin' huge! And oh yes, they stink. Oh yes, thank goodness I had the sense to wear sneakers for once in my life instead of some inappropriate yet completely stylish sandal. The thought of my bare foot in a sandal next to whatever is on the ground makes me cringe. Score one for me! Ok, breathing fresh air now, away from the cows.

We walk on. Oh the chickens! Makes me wish I didn't have chicken last night for dinner. At least they are in cages and don't completely stink.

We walk on. Sister-in-law insists we share a Belgian waffle in the Dairy Building. Waffles with strawberries and whipped cream for all. They're pretty good and it happily erased all the stench that I feel followed us from seeing the cows.

We walk on. Kids are adamant about the rides. They must ride now! Fine. To the rides we go. Tilt a Whirl, Swings, Scrambler, Himalayan, etc. etc. etc. This is getting old really fast. After 2 hours and 50 minutes of pure amusement riding, we are finally able to extract these 3 children from the area. By the grace of God, I tell you! If it weren't for that bag of kettle corn, fresh squeezed lemonade and funnel cake that sister-in-law and I downed, this 2 hours and 50 minutes could have been more torturous. This is where I realize my breaking point has officially begun. I hate the fair and I need a shower.

We walk on. Kids are hungry. Let's eat. Dear niece, fussiest child in the world, wants what? Oh yes, Little Caesar's pizza. Here we are, at the fair, home of foods the world (state?) around and she wants Little Caesars. Fine. Sister-in-law & I, along with my kids, down some cheesy bread with her. Then we moved on to the mother load of homemade potato chips smothered with cheese and bacon. Oh yeah! Ignore all thoughts of health, we're on a bender here people! Followed by burgers and hot dogs, we're feeling fine.

We walk on. Pig building next. Oh wow! This smell might far outweigh the cow building. Is this possible? Ugh, right after we ate lunch too! Trying hard not to think of the bacon on those golden homemade potato chips. Trying hard not to figure out if I can physically see the shape of a pork chop anywhere on the pigs anatomy. Gasping, gasping, gasping for fresh air....aaahh, finally. Really needing a shower now.

We walk on. Of couse, we now visit a myriad of marketable goods. What child can resist the temptation of crap for sale? They each pick assorted items...baseball hats, Webkinz cards, Beanie Babies...and I'm free. I got off fairly easy this time considering what a disaster this could have been.

We walk on. Sister-in-law says it's time for ice cream. We have to find the Dairy Building again. Perry's Ice Cream. Olivia wants Birthday Bash, Johnny wants Peanut Butter Cup, and a delicious Southern Apple Pie for me. Mmmm. Here is when it really goes downhill for me. I realize that I cannot move from the amount of food I have consumed at the fair. I'm cranky & miserable and now we have to go through all the increasing crowds of people to get out. Ugh!

We walk on. We find the gate. It's not like we can just walk to the car now. No, we have to get on the @#%*& shuttle bus first to be taken to the car. Thankfully, it was a quick process.

So, I think my dislike of the fair got the better of me because I didn't take one picture. Not one. In the car, safely on our way back home, I declared that I really hate the fair and am not going ever again. Let this be a note to self. And please, dear friends, remind me of this next year should I have any thoughts of going.