For several years, I went somewhat unwillingly. Often uncomfortable in the final months of pregnancy and toting kids back and forth to port-a-potties, I became a bit of a shrew. Some wives might have fallen into the permanent role of long-suffering martyr. Instead, my inner Scarlett O'Hara finally made an appearance. So when it came to the morning of Gaelic Park's 25th annual Irish Fest this past Monday, I had the babysitter lined up, my coffee with Bailey's ready to go, and money for a blooming fried onion and funnel cake stashed in my purse.
Me: Oh fiddlee-dee-dee. Kids, kids, kids. All this talk about kids is spoiling my spring. I get so bored I could scream.
Joe: ....uh, does that mean no?
Me: I can't think about this now. I'll think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.
Joe (rifling through the perscription drug cabinet for clues): So you want me to get the babysitter or no?
Me: Great balls of fire! Don't bother me anymore. And don't call me Sugar!
With that, we were off. No little boys to fight over rides, demand ice cream, or insist they had to pee the moment our favorite band came on.
Upon arrival, my husband the foodie did a walk-through of the various booths without buying anything. He commented on each new vendor and added menu options over last year. He was like the Rainman of Irish Fest. We stopped in and listened for a while to the great music of Tartan Terrors and Milwaukee's Sandcarvers.
With a 90 degree day and the sun beating down on us, we decided to take a stroll over to the beer tent. For the 3rd year in a row, I was stopped and asked for an I.D. I merrily agreed, happy to point out that I was pushing 40 and appreciated being carded. My husband rolled his eyes, so I of course had to point out that I was merely a trophy wife to my much much older husband (2 years 1 month). To commemorate the moment, I took a picture of our banded and unbanded wrists.
100%...yes....100% of all proceeds from sales of our CDs and t-shirts will go directly to....US! We're keeping it all. God bless America!
And that is how you have a great time without children on a hot spring day.