This weekend began with mischief and mayhem. First of all, my four year-old regressed to age two and proceeded to wreak havoc while I was performing my ritual animal husbandry tasks. He began by experimenting with the little sprayer hose that lives in the kitchen sink. I come down stairs to find him sopping up 25 gallons of water with every dishcloth and hand towel in the house (he had removed table cloth and was prepared to put it to work as well). James Michael Leo Wilson (that is what I call him when he is naughty) then reorganized the bathroom cabinets (whilst I was bathing ferret) so that all items were readily accessible from the floor! He then surreptitiously removed every furniture cushion and arranged them in a pile in the living room, while I was trying to start demon spawn mower (I use all of my weekly curse words in this exercise). I believe this was done in order to reenact some absurd wrestling maneuver. This brings me to day two.

Saturday: Hubby suggested we all, the five of us (three children, two adults, absurdly outnumbered we are), take a little trip to the Brookston (small Indiana town) Popcorn and Apple Festival. Ahh…The sights. You have your typical yard sale fare, craft booths, and lo and behold “Professional” wrestling. You see, we are walking down various side-streets in this quaint little town when we come upon…yes…a Wrestling Ring, set up right smack dab in the middle of the block! The children begged us to stay for the show, and the loving, acquiescent parents that we are, we agreed. Now I don’t know about ya’ll, but when I think wrestling, I think muscle-bound men writhing around in tight pants. Not so abhorrent, in theory, that is if said theory is applied correctly. Well, let me tell you there were plenty of tight pants, but not a muscle in sight! Oh, believe you me I took pictures. There was one fella who had the supple breasts of a young adult film star (course the rest of him was not so enviable).

One other “professional” wrestler had obviously forgotten that when one is a man, and if that one man wears tights, that man should also take care to wear proper undergarments. What I saw wasn’t impressive, and I have done grave stone rubbings that were, uhh…less revealing. I should mention that the high point of this family field trip was that yours truly was privileged enough to see an actual elf! Oh yes! I was crowd watching, as is my want, when I noticed a peculiarly dressed elderly man beginning his approach. I looked a bit closer, and noticed that he had elf ears! Not believing my eyes, the blackberry camera and I approached for a closer inspection. The ears were typically pointed and very large. I could detect no obvious seem where they might be attached, and as said elf was nearly one-hundred, I doubted a malicious hoax. The picture is posted. You be the judge.

Later that evening hubby and I are reclining on the sofa, when it occurs to us that we have no suitable snack food. Now as we live in the land that the twenty-four hour shop-center forgot (I haven’t forgotten that Comcast also disbelieves in the existence of Delphi), this is quite a revelation at ten o’clock at night. We strategize for a bit and admit that we are willing to pay an excessive amount of money for gas station priced munchies. The debate then ensues regarding which of us is more suitable to approach middle-aged gas station attendant in pajamas. Guess who lost? So, I am at nearest gas station (so close I am on foot, in slippers, mind you), and discover that they do not carry salsa (communist bastards!). I then make the decision to cross highway (why did the pajama clad woman cross the road? To get to the higher end gas station of course) and procure salsa from other gas station just minutes from closing time. All of this public humiliation for fountain pops, salsa, and almond snickers. Was it worth it? Yes, yum.