So, earlier this very night, my wonderful girlfriend, Katie, and I went to a fair at a school in Slidell. It was more of a carnival than a fair, I must admit. Regardless, once Katie's saint of a mother dropped us off there, I knew I had made a horrific mistake.
This mistake, friends, was in my choice of footwear.
As you may or may not know, I usually wear the odd-looking shoes called Crocs, the "off-road" variety. Today, however, I was in the mood for a change, so I decided to wear my steel-toed faux-suede loafers. Direct proof that hindsight is 20/20: In my pre-date air of bliss, I forgot that those particular shoes are not good for walking, and also forgot that the main component of a carnival/fair-thing is...walking.
So, after standing in line to buy tickets (which, despite what we were told by the lady at the enterance gate, were only good for rides), after playing a handful of games (I won my dearest Katie a stuffed tiger)...my feet...fucking...hurt.
After a brief pause on a triangle-shaped bench, mixed with a small discussion of our mutual paranoia regarding Ferris wheels, we walked around a bit more. We stumbled across my dreaded nemesis: The tilt-a-whirl.
Tilt-a-whirls are meant to debase one's physical balance, by seating one in a metal dome attached to a small metal track; the small track is attached to a much larger track, along with a half-dozen other small track/metal dome combinations. When the ride begins, centrifugal force spins the metal dome around the small metal track whilst the metal dome is also being forced in the direction that the larger track is spinning.
Ever since a bad experience with such a machine in the second grade, I have done everything in my power to avoid them.
So great was my loathing of these infernal things, that when Katie started pulling me toward it, I nearly took my overshirt off to escape.
So great was my love for the wonderful Katie, that I had no choice but to concede. I rode the frigging tilt-a-whirl.