geese. I know about the geese only because that is where the cable car ride lets you off and I needed to stumble over, white faced and freaked out, and commune with the geese for a moment to get myself back into some kind of composure with which to really face the Midway.
Yes, I was afraid of the cable car ride. Yes, I am the worst ride chicken in the long and storied history of ride chickens, beginning way back in the eleventh century when one of my Celtic ancestors, being forced aboard a Viking ship at knifepoint, refused to get on because it just didn't look safe and that bearded guy running the oars was definitely, but definitely, kind of sleazy and probably not up on modern safety standards. She was knifed and thrown aside, of course, whereas all I had to put up with was a man (with a beard who probably was a Viking, now that I think about it) laughing at me from the car across the ride, but still, the principle holds. I am terrified of amusement park and midway rides. And airplanes and rodents, for that matter, but they fortunately don't come in to this account except that the Giant Rat was there again, but I have already seen him and he is nothing but an overweight capybara in a too small cage. I am not, it turns out, particularly afraid of capybaras, although that is subject to change should one ever turn up in my kitchen in the middle of the night.
So I am all impressed with myself for even getting on the cable car ride. I had to do it immediately at the beginning of my fair excursion, because I knew that waiting would be fatal. Accordingly, I dragged poor Susan directly from the car to the cable car and then she very kindly didn't overtly laugh at me while I hyperventilated my way through the perfectly tame and unfrightening to any normal person ride across the fairgrounds. Then, duly recovered, we went on a photo safari of the midway, having previously agreed to skip the farm animals. That was mean of us, I know, but honestly, while I think we can all agree that llamas are awesome, still, one photo of a llama is much like another photo of a llama.
Anyway, we had fun. We ate: I broke my own cardinal rule again and ordered something (a "cheese steak sub" they called it) besides Polish sausage and it was duly completely disgusting and I'm surprised I'm not dead and Susan had funnel cake which was, well, funnel cake. Which is to say that Susan bought the funnel cake and I wolfed down half of it because that's just the kind of good friend I am. We played games and lost: Susan threw a softball at some bottles and failed to win a truly hideous stuffed animal while I threw a ping pong ball at some fishbowls and failed to win a live goldfish. We watched the human cannonball get shot into a net, which was entertaining:
Human Cannonball: Let me introduce myself! I am David Smith, a second generation human cannonball!
Susan: Wow! Now that's a resume!
Me: Why don't I ever date guys like that? Nobody I meet ever describes himself as a second generation human cannonball.
We met a carnie selling goldfish who had a Love is Suicide tattoo on her arm (Felicity: "Yes it is, my sister. Yes.") and watched a girl in a pink bathing suit do tricks on the trapeze and then on the way out we saw a lot of girls on horses race around an arena while they were introduced by the emcee. Then they left, so that seemed rather pointless but perhaps we missed something earlier. Then we left as well, unpoisoned by fair food and unkilled by the cable car ride, so it was a highly successful fair outing all the way. Hurrah for the fair!