Life here in a small town is pretty mundane…except for the third weekend in September. That, my friends, is when our little community celebrates Cow Days.
Yes, I said COW DAYS.
Our annual festival is a homecoming of sorts. When people you don’t see all year long come to town to socialize and eat fried Twinkies and Cattlemen’s Ribeye sandwiches. The big highlight for the kids is to gather around “Annie”, the large fiberglass cow, and “milk” her for Kool-Aid.
It’s a time of seeing long lost friends, buying arts and crafts, and spending lots of money on stupid, annoying toys.
One year at Cow Days, I made the mistake of buying Ray-Ray a plastic trumpet that made the most horrendous noise in the universe. I have no idea why I bought it other than I must have had a moment of weakness amidst all the whining.
Ray-Ray brings the trumpet home where she proceeds to blow it for the next 72 hours. It was at this precise moment I began my descent into insanity.
Finally, she went to sleep and I discarded the blasphemous horn in the sinkhole at the farm.
Months went by with silence…well, almost silence…just everyday ear piercing kid noise. Christmas comes and gifts are exchanged.
Ray-Ray’s godfather gave her a big ole’ package wrapped as if it held the most delicate, expensive gift. It was beautiful.
She tears off the paper and opens the package…a look of confusion and joy on her face and yells, “Look Mama…I got a new horn.”
Whaddya know, Ray-Ray’s godfather thought it would be a FABULOUS idea to save the trumpet from the depths of the sinkhole and wrap it up for Christmas.
I almost lost my religion. I do believe that I said a few bad words under my breath.
I then decided that I should be keeping my religion as I am afraid my punishment in hell would be listening to that stupid horn for all eternity.