They say seeing the world through the eyes of a child opens up a whole new view of your surroundings, of excitement and wonder, innocence and play.  What they don’t warn you about is seeing the Florida State Fair through the eyes of a child.  Similar to the whole world aspect but on a much smaller scale, it’s a completely different experience. 

A few weekends ago I decided to tag along on this family outing.  Scott was in a seminar, it was gorgeous outside and to be honest, a day of men sporting wife-beaters and colorful tats sounded right up my alley.  Meeting Brad in a parking lot close to the interstate, I hopped in his car along with the girls and we were on our way to eye candy bliss.

The fair is a yearly event in the Gatti house, typically a cash-happy evening affair of adults.  We gorge on turkey legs as big as our heads, sample the featured fried food of the moment, drink overpriced draft beers and delight in stomach flips on creaky metal fair rides.  That is, until a certain person loses their supper (you totally know who you are!).  We set spending limits on tickets that become null due to the leftover 2 tickets in a 3 ticket ride town.  Our predetermined lump of cash is disregarded as we scamper to the nearest atm, fulfilling the need of fueling our adrenaline once again.  This fair that I knew so well, was not the fair that we experienced this day. 

As one would come to find out, there is an entirely other side to the fair.  A side that is chock ful of barnyard animals contrasted with finely groomed prancing dogs.  A tent lined with endless rows of little bunny fu fus grouped together by type, awaiting their judgment and prized ribbon.  “Coloring not correct for breed” and “Slightly overweight” were among the comments marked and displayed shamelessly on their cages.  I’m still pondering over how these little creatures stand to be judged.  There were rooster crowing contests and a pioneer village, giraffe tongues as long as your arm and herds of goats tumbling over each other for handfuls of pellets which I’m pretty sure double as fish food.  We used more hand sanitizer that day than Purell has supplied me with in a lifetime.

We traded in fried twinkies for fried pickles and krispy kreme burgers for the classic corn dog.  We shared super-sized cups of french fries and fought off sticky fingers from candy apples.  We avoided the port-o-lets and opted for a family-sized restroom with a shower curtain instead of a door.  It is still yet to be determined which was actually worse.

Though the Tilt A Whirl was nowhere in our path, this newly discovered area was not to be underestimated.  It had it’s own intrigue of stomach dropping delights, otherwise known as the big yellow slide. But this one, you had to work for.  It was a clumsy trip up the 100 or so mini-sized stairs, sweat beads gathering on our foreheads while we analyzed it’s worth.  As we plopped down on burlap blankets and nudged our booties off the plank onto the rolling ribbon of yellow, our bellies found their thrill.  It was a good one.

And the best part of this day… well that would have been watching Aubrey skip up next to pappie’s chair so she could hold his hand.  I’ll take that over wife-beater tanks any day.