Fried food, farm animals, and nausea inducing machinery

Took the clan to the Barnstable County Fair, an experience akin to paying ten dollars each to go to the worst restaurant on the planet, which then induces you to vomit on spinning rides, fill up again, then finish the meal with a stroll through fetid animal pens in 90 degree heat.

I have never gotten out of there for under $100.

It all begins with the fried food. Wife goes for a ginormous fried onion with horseradish infused mayonnaise and a tub of Del’s lemonade (allegedly considered a delicacy in Rhode Island). Eldest son and I go for the foot long hot Italian sub with greasy fried onions and peppers, and a large $7 order of “curly” fries soaked in vinegar. Youngest son always gets something strange involving mystery meat on sticks. Daughter goes dessert right from the beginning, generally fried and covered in powered confectioner’s sugar. We rendezvous in the glen behind the fried food stands and go communal, all while reassuring ourselves “It only happens once a year.”

Then to the rides. I like looking at the carnies. Belt buckles the size of garbage can lids, weird leather cowboy hats … one actually said, “Get ‘er done” after loading a passel of screaming tie-dyed campers onto the Regurgitron. I don’t go on the rides. I have a notoriously wimpy stomach, horror of heights, and would flunk out of the astronaut try-outs of the first round. So I make the boys do it and then take great glee in watching them get sick.

We play games. Generally involving guns.

And then my favorite part. Animals.

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