The sign said that it was the exact one seen in State Fair featuring Anne Bancroft and Pat Boone. “Ah,” I thought. “A piece of history. Such a good mom, to bring my children here to experience this.”
But then, I’m not sure that the original Tilt-a-Whirl is really where you want to go with the whole history thing. How long can metal grind against metal and not leave some horrendous, news making event in its wake?
The last week before school starts, and with such a cold start to the summer, we’ve been packing it all in. We brought my sister home with us from our last vacation, and she’s loving it here. She asked me yesterday, “Next time I come to visit, can I just visit?” Apparently, she does not like my free labor method of entertaining guests. She helped move all the heavy furniture from the upstairs to the basement. I tried to make her do it on her own, but she whined when she saw the armoire that had to go down 3 flights of stairs. Whimp.
So, to make up for the turn her “vacation” had taken, I packed everyone in the minivan and we trundled off to a small amusement park. I was amused. I think everyone was amused. I hate amusement parks, but as soon as the Maze Owners handed us each a water gun and told us to have fun, I changed my mind. We snuck around corners, climbed under partitions (turns out, that’s a no-no) and walked out soaked. Being Carried In My Arms Infant wasn’t so thrilled, but I think that’s because he didn’t get his own gun.
I also had a harness tied around my waist, bungee cords attached to my sides, and I jumped. High. Really, really high. And I flipped, on purpose. I put my derrière in the air and did a somersault. Just one, because two would have been more than my old-lady stomach could have borne. I’m also not sure the growing crowd was entirely on my side. I think at least a few of them walked away disappointed when I did not, in fact, throw up.
So, come visit us. We may force you to help us paint, but we’ll end the day with ice-cold water guns and puke.