The Deerfield Fair! What is there to say that I haven't already said over the years? Little brother and his wife come up from Charlotte. We eat a lot. We laugh a lot, mostly at each other. Let's take a stroll through the film clip and see what comes up . . . Gerty, roll the tape.
|Yes, it's true. They were selling balls. To eat.|
|Little brother was a complete jerk every time I took a picture.|
|Seriously. Cranky stepfather is not impressed. But Cranky stepfather is never impressed.|
|These things are still ugly.|
So every fair has its craft exhibits. And it's become clear to me that they let just about any riff raff in.
|My mom's blue ribbon winner!|
|My imaginary bf Ted Nichols, amazing every year.|
|A second Ted Nichols piece! I love this painting. Also, this is getting stupid. |
The guy lives down the street. I just don't have the lady balls to contact him and tell him I'm a fan.
Wait--what's this amidst all the 'merica goods? That there, off to the right...
Damn, that thing is stunning! Closer...
|In case you are into this sort of thing, it's one thread |
over one square on 40-ct linen. It was a total little bitch to stitch.
Me: It's a small cross stitch piece... not sure how to describe it. There's a fleur-de-lis...it's really small...
Fellow crafter: Wait...was it the red one?!
Me, whispering inside and mentally high-fiving myself: yessss!
|Yes. I'm in the company of the iconic Hang In There kitty.|
And of course there are the obligatory animal pictures:
|Huh, look at that. Little brother is being all nice and stuff.|
|I came upon this scene. I'm guessing Cranky stepfather and Little brother are |
picking on each other. Mom is in hysterics. I love it.
|Aaaand back to asshattery.|
|My heart breaks a little every time I see an apostrophe used this way.|
|Christmas shopping for Little brother: Check!|
|Wait, let me get a picture before you dig in...awesome. |
Thanks for sticking your face into the frame.
Meanwhile, this happened:
|An apple? At the fair? I didn't think that was possible. |
And frankly, it's like I don't even know you, Ligia.
|Truth. No effing fried pickles again this year.|
|We asked Little brother to take a picture of us. A photographer, he is not. |
Poor Mom, popping out of a sprig of tall grass . . .
|In case you're wondering, no. Nothing is serious in our family.|