Sunday Torture, that’s what memories are made of…

Sandstorm.
Heat.
Car exhaust.
The stench of stale popcorn.

Dust in our eyes. The children’s eyes. Crying, dusty children.
Walking. Bumping. Walking.

Go this way. No, that way. Over here. Let’s go over there. Go this way. Hold my hand. Give me your hand. No, the other hand. Go this way. Don’t touch that. Don’t throw that. Give me your hand.

Walking.

Chugga. Chugga. $36 for a dusty, hot, short train ride that was really a tractor that went in a circle. Chugga Chugga.
Crowds. Music. Crowds.

Where did all these locals come from? When did our town get this big? And why does that large woman NEED two wagons of pumpkins?

Poor, hot, sad ponies with happy, sometimes crying, bouncing children.

SMILE JUSTIN. SIT AND SMILE NOW WHILE I TAKE THIS PICTURE OR WE WILL GO HOME WITHOUT THE PUMPKIN!

Climb up the hay. Climb down the hay. Climb up the hay. Climb down the hay. STOP THROWING THE HAY! Climb down the hay.

Walking. Bumping. Balancing. Two pumpkins. Two children. Zero hands. Crying. Walking. Bumping.

12 thoughts on “Sunday Torture, that’s what memories are made of…”

Kelly October 23, 2006 at 5:33 am

he.he.hee… Oh, the pumpkin patch. Good times. Good times.

Jack's Raging Mommy October 23, 2006 at 5:42 am

Poor Queenie.
Just think, soon you get to have pumpkin guts all over you as well 🙂

Denise October 23, 2006 at 5:59 am

All of that misery for a pumpkin? It had better be a self-carving/cleaning pumpkin! Good grief.

Gidge October 23, 2006 at 10:28 am

This is why Halloween in the north where it is cold and rainy is still superior to Halloween where it is hot.
We’re supposed to go today or tomorrow……I’ll let you know what sort of hell we experience in the 90 degree here in FLA………