Fairy Dust and Vomit

We went to the mythical land of fairies and knights, where ladies and knaves roam and sometimes even gargoyles come to life and come visit while you eat. Yes, we went to the Renaissance Festival.

There were all the requisite human powered rides, Julia insists that they are all ROLLERCOASTERS, and the small humans were once again entranced with the magic of the place. I have to admit, it's pretty wonderful. There's a jeweler I always stop at and pick up some earrings, and a lady who makes soap (not not out of human fat although maybe that would improve authenticity?) whom I always buy from. Weird little traditions that don't matter much to anyone but I find them comforting, so I do them.

Also in tradition the varied and anachronistic foods offered.

No this isn't all my food. this is food for the table. We tend to like to get a bit of this and that and pass it around. I thought I'd done a pretty good job of not over indulging.

Of course, after changing the boys diapers in the porta-potty in 90 degree heat, and it's so much hotter in there, and then taking the girl potty, again, it's so much hotter in there - suddenly, I didn't feel so great. I didn't feel so great AT ALL.

The heat swelling up inside me was like an inferno. I had sweat pouring out of me and I started to feel nauseous, and shaky.  At first I thought I could shake it off, that it'd pass. But as we walked onward to find a shady spot to sit I realized nothing was going to pass except OUTWARD and rushed back to the porta-potty.

A few things about vomiting. First of all, traditionally I'm a kneeler and a toilet clutcher. That's probably gross but that's how I roll. One cannot kneel nor clutch anything IN a porta-potty.

One cannot do anything in a porta-potty except lean one's face toward the doomed hell of the HOLE (remove your glasses first thankfully I thought of this) and just let it fly, bending at the waist and holding your agonized guts closely.

You might wistfully wish for a cold bathroom floor to lay on, to feel the cool tile beneath your cheek. There is no such respite in a porta-potty. In fact, it's vying for position with the Worst Toilet In Scotland and you'll stand and like it.

After the expulsion of all of the things I had eaten I returned to my family, again massively overheated from BEING IN THE PORTA-POTTY. Cruel humor that.

I'd say Mom ruined the day but they were VERY good sports about it. We did stay through the joust but we missed the drum circle dancing at the end (which was too bad, Julia was hoping to dance with the fairies again). I made it to the cool arctic wind of the van's air conditioning and felt well enough to eat dinner by the time we got to our side of town.

I was a little annoyed because, for the first time in YEARS I wore shorts, so that plus weighing less, I felt very strongly that I should've had LESS trouble with the heat, not AMAZINGLY MORE TROUBLE. But I guess not, eh?

We were rooting for the green knight. He didn't do so well alas.
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