Yes, it’s that time of year again.  The Texas State Fair rolled into town this week with such culinary delights as chicken fried bacon, fried banana splits, fried grilled cheese sandwiches, Texas fried jelly bellys, deep fried s’mores, and fried chocolate truffles.  After 2 decades of passive indifference and active taunting of friends who gleefully skip down the fairway and listen to Big Tex shout greetings after them year after year; I was dragged, kicking and screaming, by my coworkers to the iron gates of the State Fair under the guise of "team-building" and departmental togetherness.  I trudged along the fairway as my colleagues suckled on the thighs of turkeys cut down in their prime to make possible the drumsticks that slid down their gullets.  I attempted not to vomit when my boss insisted that I ride the ferris wheel with him where he then preceded to rock the tiny 4x4 coffin back and forth as I struggled not to think about us falling to our impending death on the pavement below.  

That was two years ago.  I still can not erase the impressions of pig races and corny dog contests from my mind.  It’s as though the horrific images are seared into the deepest crevices of my cranium where I can only hope that one day old age and perhaps dementia will take these sordid memories and leave in their place prettier memories of the time that I dated Brad Pitt.  

What?  It’s my memories- I can replace them with anything I want! I did have to cut Brad loose after all, he got too needy and clingy- it wasn’t pretty- I had George, Clooney that is, pick up the pieces, he’s good at that you know, but I digress…