Just a small town Saturday night

Okay, so it was actually Friday- but Hal Ketchum didn't write the song that way.

Anyway, in the past when I would think to myself, "Self, what do you think you'll be doing on your last night of school ever?..." chaperoning my little sis at the Graham carnival probably wouldn't have come to mind.  But my mother had different plans for the evening.

I was conveniently in town to witness the spectacle that is the annual dance recital (and celebrate Mother's Day, duh) and I was just the perfect chaperone to a gaggle of middle schoolers who are so desperate for freedom but way too immature to ever be left alone in public.  Especially at the carnival.

Let me explain this concept to all you city folks.  A crew of ex-convicts (that is a broad overstatement, by the way) rolls into town on Monday morning, and by Monday night there are miraculously tall, blinking, spinning and nausea inducing rides gracing America's Largest Downtown Square.  (That's Graham's claim to fame, by the way.  The square.)  But what really makes the carnival "the carnival" are the people that come out of the woodwork to attend.  I always feel like I know everyone in town until I attend the carnival or go to Wal-Mart too late at night.  And that's when strange things start happening.

By the way, have y'all ever checked out "People of Wal-Mart?" We could start a "People of the Carnival" blog and be rollin' in the dough so fast.  Seriously.  It's astounding.

So, although the people watching was prime, I was incredibly relieved when my sister's tickets ran out and we could get the heck out of dodge.

Because there's no telling who comes out after they shut down the rides...


On a less-creepy note, my parents decided to put a pool in our backyard once 66.6% of their children were grown and gone.  Does this seem unfair to anyone else?

Oh, okay.  I guess we will take it now.

Better late then never, right?

Love,

The 66.6%