Although no one in my family was directly involved, when I read it I got a strange feeling that they were lurking somewhere on the fringes. Just a little bit off screen and the director panned to fast to see them. Not any direct relative, though, but a third cousin-once-removed. Someone who I could still marry.
It also reminds me that we, Pygmalions, are unfortunately not going to make it to the Clay County Fair this year. Too little vacation time, previous planned trips, demands from immediate family all seem to be working against us.
Which is too bad, for it's a fabulous show. It’s so good that a description won't fit into one post. The fair is an entire week of tours, pulls, dips, dupes, fried meats, livestock, robots, giveaways, dopes, rubes and Grand Funk Railroad. Here's a soupçon:
There's a man selling knives. Not just any knives, but miracle knives. And not just miracle knives, but Miracle Knives III. The kind that can be used to redo your whole bathroom. From cutting drywall and copper pipes to picking out matching candles and hand towels.
It's hot in the
There are two key Miracle Blade knives that you must be able to handle if you're going to be the best blademan in the Iowa/South Dakota/Nebraska county fair circuit. There's the Rock 'n Chop - serated and mean. And then there's it's thinner cousin - the Chop 'n Scoop.
For today's ten fingered housewife, the old CnS is perfect for quickly cutting those delicious veggies and getting them in the stew pot without having to reach for an extra utensil. Chop scoop dump. Chop scoop dump. It's firm, yet bendy. Cutty, but not stabby.
And as our man was reaching the zenith of his routine - the vegetables were diced into culinary minim and he turned the blade to scoop - he could feel these Iowans following his hands with their eyes. He could feel the crowd reaching for their wallets. He could feel the gentle massage of success. He could feel... he could feel the blade snap from its cheap plastic handle and whistle out of the booth.
The crowd stood motionless as the metal shard flicked past them into the summertime dust. It happened too quickly for any sort of defensive reaction. If it had hit someone, instead of sailing through a gap in the spectators, it easily could have nicked a carotid artery. We all looked at each other and then back at the man. He stood there buffaloed, holding his jagged handle. We turned and left.
There were no Miracle Blade III sales that day.