Confession: I love carnivals. I love fairs. I love the rides. I love the greasy food. I love the desserts. I love people-watching. I love the games.
That’s a lot of love right there.
So, Friday night, I went to the local fair in Malvern, PA. To say I was excited would be an understatement. I was ecstatic. Once I could see the bright lights and bustle of people, my heart swelled with happiness of the most lame variety.
And oh boy did I have fun. But, there was one great big problem – I’m from the country. I’m from a place where people bale hay and feed cows and you get stuck behind tractors on the way school.
Malvern, PA? The farthest thing from the country you can find. No, it’s not a big city or anything. But, it’s Main Line Philadelphia – where the elite come out to play.
This fair was the Main Line’s attempt at pretending to be country. No, there were no homemade pies. No, my grandma wasn’t at a booth selling tickets. No, there was no dime toss – a travesty considering that’s my very favorite game. No, there were no boy scouts selling pizza or firemen shelling out pit beef sandwiches. There wasn’t even any live local country music playing with everyone dancing along.
There were children carrying coach purses and smart phones. There was a fireworks display that rivals the fanciest I’ve ever seen. There was a speaker system blasting Billboard’s Top 40 Pop Hits in lieu of country music. There was an ATM accepting credit cards. There was a clown in the dunking booth instead of the local gym teacher.
The horror. Oh, the horror.
I satiated myself with deep friend Oreos and a Lemonade and shook my head at all those poor city folk circling around.
I actually had a lot of fun, but just in case I forgot, I’m not from Main Line Philadelphia. In fact, almost every single one of my friends is from the country. And I like it that way.
– Sarah #2