Until yesterday, Tim had never been to a State Fair. Isn't that crazy? Growing up in Texas, we went to the fair EVERY year. In fact, we got a day off of school for it. So naturally, I've always loved anything fair related. Food, rides, strange exhibits, animals- I love it all. My only negative memory was peeing my pants on the TX State Ferris Wheel when I was three. But come on, I was three.
Let's fast forward 20 years to yesterday. Tim and I decide to go to the fair. It's the last day, he's never been, so why not? Little did I know, the horror that would follow.
We were both pretty hungry when we got there, so our first mission was to scout out what we wanted for lunch. Tim decided on a Philly Cheese Steak and I picked the Indian Taco. Ever had an Indian Taco? Their pretty fantastic and look something like this:
Trying to be smart, we opted out of rides for a bit. Neither one of us wanted to feel remotely sick on our fun fair date, so we walked around for about an hour and a half. We saw the new cars, the random shops, and of course, the animals. Feeling on top of the world, we decided we had waited long enough and headed over to the Midway.
First ride: awesome. It was called the "Fire Ball." And despite a few butterflies from the height, I was completely fine.
Second ride: This beast-
Not awesome. About 30 seconds into the ride, I felt it. That awful feeling that starts in your head, creeps down your throat, and then quickly consumes your whole upper body. I tried closing my eyes. I tried pressing my head against Tim's shoulder. I tried in vain. Right as Tim asked, "Hey baby, are you okay?" I lost it. I lost an entire Indian Taco and a large sweet tea all over myself and Tim. Five times. FIVE. It was awful. There was no stopping it.
Think that's gross? Just wait.
Apparently, the operator missed the spew, and let us down LAST.
Guys- we were marinating in my vomit for a good three minutes... at an angle.
It. Was. AWFUL.
Tim, again the BEST HUSBAND EVER, just smiled and kept asking if I was okay. He wasn't grossed out, he didn't freak, and he even waited until I was done crying to laugh. When we finally got down, the operator simply said, "Oh, sh*t" and walked away.
Oh, sh*t was right.
Then came the walk of shame. Covered in my spew, Tim and I journeyed back to the car, removed our pants, and drove home. Can you imagine if we would've gotten pulled over?
As we got closer to the apartment, we remembered a few things:
1. We were in our underwear
2. There was no way we were putting our pants back on (yuck)
3. We had to somehow get upstairs to our apartment without showing our entire complex our skivvies.
Luckily, Tim's friend met us with some towels and we were able to sneak upstairs, pretending to have just gone for a swim.
The worst swim of my life.
We laughed non-stop from the drive home until after we were both showered and our clothes were in the washer.
Like I said, I have the best husband in the world.