What do you think about that, bitches? This is a steak sandwich with cheese, peppers, onions and a little hot sauce. I wish you guys could smell it. (They should make an app for that.) Sitting across the plastic red checkered tablecloth is The Daughters. (Mrs. Wife is off camera by request.) They’re eating fried chicken strips and french fries.
There are certain parents out here in the lily white suburbs who wouldn’t think of feeding this kind of crap to their precious jewels. God’s little gifts only deserve the best. They’re not going to pollute their fragile, growing bodies with anything that isn’t from Whole Foods or grown on an organic farm.
Not my girls.
When you attend the Monmouth County Fair, you have to eat county fair food. You just have to. That steak sandwich was so satisfying that I almost bought a second one. Do you know what zeps are? Fried dough with powdered sugar? I wish I had one right fucking now. There was a vendor selling deep fried Oreos but even I’m not that crazy.
While at the county fair, 7-Year Old Daughter got a quick lesson on the potter’s wheel. Shades of Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze in Ghost!
I’m a bit afraid of heights, but Mrs. Wife is really afraid of heights, so when it comes to the Ferris wheel. I have to take The Daughter up. When she is old enough for for roller coasters, she’ll be on her own. I’m an amusement park pussy.
The wheel stopped at the apex and we sat quietly looking out over a sun drenched suburban New Jersey. Daughter didn’t say anything but she had a big grin on her face. What do you want from life?
Has anyone seen my New York City-hipster elan lying around anywhere? It’s seems to have fallen out of a hole in my pocket.