or It’s not Fair.
or That’s a lovely bucket of sorrow you have there, MARTHA.
The last three days of my life have been about a bucket of cookies.
This happens every year with the advent of the Minnesota State Fair. It starts with me saying something asinine like “Oh, I’m not doing what I did last year. I need a bucket of Sweet Martha’s like a need a hole in the head.”
Then I have a dream where I’ve grown a special hole in my head just to house more chocolate chip cookies.
Have you had these little bastards? Let me rewind a moment.
You see, every year, Minnesota has this huge get-together (da Fair, ya), and people come from all corners of our strangely-shaped state by car, RV, and bus.
Some enter crop art or livestock in competitions. Some enter the Beer Garden and don’t leave until Labor Day. (Some also partake in Hotdish on a Stick and Kid Rock. I don’t understand those people. Still others visit the Al Franken booth and fan themselves with cut-outs of his disembodied head. Not as creepy as it sounds, but still creepy.)
I Fair for the cookies.
Specifically: the fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies that taste like chocolate butter orgasms. And, whatever size you get, you are getting a crap-ton of cookies. It makes NO SENSE to get a whole bucket. It’s flat WRONG. A death wish.
1) “Oh, no. I’m not going to get a bucket this year. It’s way too much.”
2) “Oh, so and so is going to want some too? Okay, then I’ll get a bucket. We’ll share.”
3) So and so doesn’t generally exist.
4) I wait in line for as long as it takes. I’m not going to get a bucket, in my head.
5) “I’ll take a bucket, please.” Hey. In for a penny … pass the milk and stand the hell back.
6) The 90-pound college co-ed with the cookie scoop and chocolate-smudged look of apathy scoops me a heaping bucket of chocolate-chip winning lottery tickets.
7) I have a bucket. It’s mine. I never want this moment to end.
I’m irritated, I’ve got the sugar shakes, and my fingers are perma-sticky because for 24 hours, I haven’t eaten anything but butter, refined sugar, and chocolate. And milk, of course.
“You could bring the rest to work,” my roommate tells me, from a distance. I totally could. I have no intention of doing that. I hum My Favorite Mistake as I heat two more cookies up in the microwave in an attempt to recapture the magic of that first day.
Tuesday: At this point, I’m just eating them out of habit. I don’t even taste the chocolate anymore. There’s a new roll of Fair Flubber on my waistline. I think about making a hotdish using the last six cookies and some cream of mushroom soup.
Wednesday, they’re gone. The thought of them makes me ill. AND … I miss them.
I’ll quit tomorrow.
Or, next year.
Because I won’t go.
Or I’ll go, but I won’t bucket.
Or if I bucket, I’ll take it to work.
Or I’ll mail the leftovers to Kid Rock.
Okay, I’d better go eat a salad or something.
Happy Fair, everybody! Cookie sensibly.