Ribbons and Pinstripes

We went to the county fair this weekend. This is one of my favorite periods of summer, when the fairgrounds open up and all the 4H kids are walking around constantly chewing on their nails worrying about their crumble cake and if their squash will be big enough to beat the Jensen kid down the street. Our neighborhood is an odd mix, since the suburbs are literally right across a two lane street from massive working farms. There are fields and fields of tall corn, herds of cattle, yards filled with sheep. Orchards filled with fruit - right next to the supermarket that imports vegetables from California.

The fair is a special kind of celebration. It's a perfect reminder, that yeah, we do live in agricultural bliss, even if we forget because we pass the mall everyday instead of the local Vineyard. Everyone has worked hard all summer and now they're getting together to show off. Well I guess that's what it's supposed to be. Honestly I've noticed that most of the kids in our area dress in Banana Republic khakis to show off their sheep and most don't know the difference between an alpaca and a llama...but it's still fun. My husband likes to watch the goats push each other off bales of hay (and consequently butt the children who are unfortunate enough to get in their way). I like the cows who always look so pretty and have such big round soft eyes. I could spend all day admiring each and every cow. It definitely renews my late summer vow of becoming a vegetarian, not to mention the cows are usually parked right near the farmers market displaying all that perfect August harvest. This year we got to watch the Draft Horse competition. My husband lived on a farm with horses, I didn't, so the horse competitions are more thrilling for me than for him. Neither of us know anything about Draft Horses though. It was truly impressive to watch the way the teams worked. There was something thrilling about leaning on the fence and watching a huge cart pulled by three or four huge horses trotting past you so quick you can only see the ribbons trailing behind. The horses are huge and intimidating, they're muscle-y but in a different way from the sleek muscles on a race horse. And their bellies swell deep into their harnesses. There chains were louder than I thought they'd be, and were accompanied by loud booms from each foot step. Everytime they stomped down the wagon shook making you think it was going to fall apart right there, but since it was a trot these huge horses still picked up each foot daintily, hop point, hop point, hop point. They looked happy and proud. Maybe it was just me though. But they were magnificent.

I was a little tickled by the matching outfits of the stable hands, which were not so magnificent. It was like being surrounded in the land of warped twins. Nothing fit right, and I think they made a mistake trying to hide there tattoos and scars. They all looks uncomfortable dressing in matching cowboy shirts with classing colors and bolo ties.

Dress in general was a tad strange. There were a few people who had come directly from church. I watched a little girl skip past in a dark blue satin dress with a huge black toole petticoat. I couldn't figure out if her mother hadn't let her change or if she had insisted on wearing it all day. I can remember those fights myself. Why would I want to change into play clothes when I looked so pretty? But then again, why would I want to keep a big cumbersome skirt on when there were so many things to climb and so many things to scrap my knee on? Being a little girl is a life of constant change - it takes a lot of energy and antibacterial soap to keep up.

Luckily I am no longer a little girl and could join the ranks of fair goers who were dressing in tank tops and play skirts. It was a hot day, I felt sorry for every man, woman and child who was stuck in their button downs and silk blouses. They were all melting and peeling away as many layers as possible. By the end of our trip everyone who had showed up looking crisp, fresh and "saved" now looked like they'd been swimming in some lava pool in hell and were contemplating performing a strip show.

All except one man. Just as we rounded the corner from the sheep barn, fanning ourselves with a well-wrinkled program and handouts on the marketability of Emu Oil I saw him. There, at noon, with no shade, no wind, and an ambient temperature nearing the 100's was a big, husky, man dressed in a black pinstripe suit. Not only dressed, but buttoned up and pressed, not just pressed: starched. He end had his tie tightened up nice and close to his throat.

It was like staring at the devil. We passed him, I nearly got whiplash. I couldn't help but watch him, blatantly walking down the thru-way, dripping sweat down onto his collar and making no one move to unbutton the four buttons of his coat, or loosen his tie. I looked at my husband, his shirt was already soaked, my skin was showing the first pink tones of a sunburn. Who was this guy fooling? Everyone was in the same heat...we were all suffering. There was already a substantial bid going for the next seat in the dunking pool. We all knew it was hot. Really hot. Really really freaking hot!

And he's walking around dressed like it's mid-November.

I was offended. I was insulted. I was just plain mad. The cows shared my indignation. They watched him walk around with wary cow eyes, probably wondering why a species so vain they would suffer in this heat somehow got the upper hand. I could see them all inch a little closer to the barn fans, and a little further away from Mr. GQ.

I mean come on buddy. Give up the ghost. We all know it's hot, we all know you're hot, and we all know the black pinstripe was a bad idea. Bite the bullet and take off the damn jacket. You're still not prettier than me, even if you are wearing twice the clothes, and there is no way you're prettier than the cows. Everyone knows you're sweating. Take off the coat, take off the coat...TAKE THE DAMN COAT OFF!

Two hours later we passed him again, still dressed impeccably. Not a single wrinkle anywhere and completely devoid of the dirt that the rest of us had collected trudging through the barns and sandy grounds. But as we passed I saw his collar, his starched white collar, soaking wet and yellowing.

HA! Should have taken off the coat huh?