Friday, January 9, 2009

No More Renaissance Festivals

“Oh Come on Daddy,” Sandra begged, “it’ll be fun. They will have jousting and lots of beggars and period costumes. People will be eating turkey legs. You will really enjoy it.”
For those who don’t know Sandra well, let me explain that she can be a little bit weird sometimes. She is, after all, an artist. Her paintings run from the regular people settings which are really quite good to the very weird. I’m talking about nude women captured in anything from thorny briars to chains. I’m talking about angels with wings—perhaps one of them broken. I’m talking about a group of birds pulling someone behind them with a rope as they fly into the wild blue yonder. Maybe you get the picture of the personality of our little blonde kid.
Now, she didn’t have to convince Sheila—her mother, my wife—to go to the Renaissance with her. You see, her mother is where she comes by that personality trait, uh, the weird.
Well, I thought I might enjoy seeing Sir Lance-a-Lot on a white horse riding wide open with his jousting stick, uh, pole in an attempt to knock the bad guy on the black steed from his saddle. We’ve all seen it in the movies, but I decided to go along so as not to be dubbed Sir Blah Humbug by my wife and daughter.
When we entered this strange world of the weird, I did indeed see beggars making attempts to get anything from money to food. I thought to myself, I don’t need to do this. I can go by the interstate and see beggars working the cars, but they assured me that it was all part of the show, and to not get overly concerned.
What was in store for me was something that would haunt me for the rest of my life. As we strolled along minding our own business—especially me—I notice this very hefty maiden who was dressed in period clothes that were red and white. She had a low-cut blouse filled with dollar bills poking out of her very ample bosom. The only thing brighter red than her large hat was her bright red mouth. She wasted no time in putting the move on me right in front of my wife and daughter. I stepped away, and she kept up her pursuit, assuring me that she meant no harm. Before I knew it, she had knocked my white cap from my head, grabbed me by both of my ears and pulled me to her, successfully planting a very red image of her large lips on the side of my now blushing red face. Believe you me, if they had DNA back then, it would have been very easy to identify her as my attacker.
I hastily retrieved my hat, pulled away from the not so winsome winch and beat a hasty retreat from the big threat. She did not give me a single dollar from those ample bosoms, and I speedily escaped looking for the jousting contest.

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