Snowcone

Shaved ice in a flimsy conical cup, it's a classic concoction and a simple summer treat. The regular readers here in the Lounge, know that I have a hankering for the simpler pleasures in life. Nothing could be more simple than a snow cone.

My atomic-clock/remote-weather-station showed a balmy 105 outside in the shade this afternoon. However, the little town I call home was holding its own old-timey fair down in the park by the river. We go every year, and every year it's the same. Princess pageants, Lyons Club Lyon Paws, bad big-band music and sticky children.

At least there are snow cones to be had.

We packed up the kids (human girl, canine boy) and trundled off into the withering heat. The boy can be excitable in crowds, so we don't usually bring him. However, the police department was raising funds for a dog of their own, and were washing dogs to raise money. Please believe, in this heat, the fur-ball needed a bath.

We were not there very long before the boy went running after some sexy spaniel. I tried to lock his leash with my right thumb brake-button while grabbing the the thin nylon tether with my left hand. That move cost me a few ounces of flesh, which was filleted from my finger. Not a laceration, mind you. No, just a patch of skin, down to the fascia, that no longer exists.

Having self-administered first aid, employing an all-too-big bandage for the occasion, the Gin-and-Tonic family sought out a shady seat for lunch. As I sat, tying the boy's leash to the table, the missus stood next to me deciding where to fetch food. All at once, a gaggle of drunken yokels swarmed down upon our table. With the exception of the 24 square inches staked by my ass, they and their youngins consumed the whole of the picnic table, edging us out of what was rightfully ours. First in time, first in right. I mean, I was utterly shocked out of my wits. I was stunned. It was a fair foul of the highest order.

The boy eventually got washed, which left the washing-cops covered in dog hair, but they did a good job.

The missus had her own mishap. She went to find the fair food of her choice, but was told they were out. Further distractions then prevented her from ever actually eating.

Then, as things dwindled down, we let the girl splash around in the wading pond. She sat on the edge and kicked her feet in the water. We were both close, but not hovering over her as the water was only 6 inches deep. As I sat watching, some drunken shirtless jackass, decided to walk backward though the kiddy swimming area so he could flex his tanned pecs at his fake-tittied whore of a girlfriend.

He, of course, walked backward right into the girl and sent her sprawling across the pavement. Sure, he was very apologetic, and sure, his busty whore gave him no end of shit for being a goddamned idiot douchebag. But still, BUT STILL...

The dog did nothing, by the way. Not even a growl.

The temperature continued to climb higher. My shirt was soaked with sweat. My fleshless finger began to throb. The girl's lip was bleeding. The boy was bathed, and the wife was hungry. So, we decided to pack it in and call it good.

As we proceeded politely out of the parking lot, I looked to my left and saw the multi-colored flashing sign. It was then that I realized that I never got my snowcone.

Reading for Comprehension:
1. Cherry, Lime, Grape, Lemon, Bubblegum, or Rainbow?
2. It seems to me that I may have deepening issues concerning large crowds and seating.
3. We'll probably go again next year. Wanna come?