A few weeks ago, Daddyo took The Eight-Year-Old and I to the Bristol Renaissance Faire. Fortunately, it was one of the hottest days of the year, so we got the full summer experience. Including the part where on the drive, all you can think about is getting your hands on one of those BBQ turkey legs, so you shout down every suggestion that you stop for lunch on the way, because all you want for lunch, all you’ve ever wanted for lunch is a giant turkey leg. No, Daddyo, I do not want to stop for Mexican at this great place you found on Yelp! Drive, man, drive!
And then you’re there, jostling for space in line at The Buttery between a red-faced friar in full woolen regalia and some dude with horns and a kilt while your blood sugar plummets and sweat drips down your back. Five agonizing decades of minutes later, the friar who cared enough to wear authentic wool garb on the hottest day of the year but skipped the tonsure finally wanders off with his large, luscious, steaming limb of poultry, and it’s your turn!
So you order a lime flavored sno cone for you and your favorite Eight-Year-Old. Because it turns out, you’re just not that into turkey. (Insert eye-roll from Daddyo here.)
Post-cone, we wandered past the Jacob’s Ladder. So naturally, The Eight-Year-Old had to give it a try.