Yesterday we went to a party. At least that's what Braeden called it. Actually, it was a smallish carnival set up for the Cornbread Festival. Let me take this moment to reiterate how hilarious I find it that the only thing we have to celebrate is cornbread! But I digress...
Carnivals are interesting things. I suppose if a philosopher-type were to study the psychology of carnivals and how people react to them, it would be an interesting study in human depravity. Throngs of people will spend $4 to ride a cheap, thrown-together kiddie ride that can do little more than some version of running in circles, and they will do it over and over again. They plunk down money for rigged games that only produce cheaply made toys that will burst at the seams if the fuzziness doesn't rub off first and eat food so laden with grease that it makes riding the aforementioned attractions a recipe for a vomit fountain. Lovely, eh?
In spite of the absurdity of the whole thing, there is something about it that's just plain fun. And really, that's why we go, isn't it? Even though it had rained and every step risked soaking my feet in nasty mud (and every ride posed a threat of a wet bottom), and even though I'm on a diet and the funnel cakes were seductively calling my name like a siren, and even though in the back of my mind I kept wondering how much money we were spending - despite all of that, it was a great deal of fun. Just to see Braeden laughing and squealing on the rides, running from one to the next as fast as his skinny legs would carry him was worth any perceived sacrifice on my part.
Maybe that's the real appeal of carnivals - for a few brief moments, even a 30-something can feel like a kid.