Life & Love & Lessons Learned

Why I Hate Carnivals.

The carnival was in town this past weekend. My youngest was super excited to go and reminded me every hour throughout the entire weekend, that indeed, the carnival was in town. I tried distractions. I tried bribery. I’m not a carnival kind of girl – not a fan of those ill-put together, nauseating spin rides, and too much of a sucker for those dart games. I will spent $50 in darts just to upgrade from the barely stuffed banana on the bottom shelf, to the bigger, better stuffed owl on the 3rd shelf! I am however a big fan of the carny treats; bring on the fried dough, sausages and cotton candy. Diet be damned.

So on Sunday afternoon, after putting it off for 2 days, I succumbed.

Pulling into the parking lot, I could already feel myself sweating. Why is it that whenever the carnival is in town, so is a heat wave. I’m talking, sweat dripping from the back of your neck, down your back and into the crease of your shorts – that hot!

We paid $2 to literally walk into the carnival. Another $25 for unlimited rides, per person…which wouldn’t have been so bad, if that’s all we did. But there were “extras” like face painting, and bumper cars…slushies and lemonade, because you know…it was friggin’ hot!

And then you got the carnies yelling at you as you walk by, “C’mon mom…you’re not gonna win a prize for your little girl?” and “You not strong enough to hit this to the top?” Really? I’m being bullied now? So I stop. Sure, I can hit a balloon with a dart. Duh.

$5 a game. Play until you win. Okay. I got this.

I take a dart. I throw it. Pop goes the yellow balloon. I get handed another dart. Cool. It’s a 3 dart game! I throw another dart. Pop. Blue balloon. Nice! The carny worker hands me a 3rd and final dart – I pop another yellow! Nice!

I hand him $5. He tells me I owe him $15. WTF. “You played 3 games!” he tells me. At least I walked out with a skinny stuffed snake.

I needed to lick my wounds by finding the fried dough kiosk. And for $6, it was worth every penny.

Now my son walks towards me, holding a plastic bag filled with water. I’m dripping sweat and wonder if the sweat has gone into my eyeballs. I’m not actually looking at a goldfish, am I? “I won a goldfish!” he beams. For the love of shit…seriously? It looked like it was already dead. “Start the car!” he says. “I wanna get it home before it dies.” Um…I just paid $100 for unlimited rides. I’m not leaving.

After hours at the carnival, we left. Tired. Sweaty. And broke.

With a fish named Steve.

RIP Steve.

7-7-19 to 7-9-18





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