I love our town’s Fourth of July parade. It’s the only time I call our town a “town.” All the other days of the year it’s a city, but on the Fourth, as our family bumps into friends and teachers, grocery store cashiers and grandparents, all elbow-to-elbow along the street for the parade…it’s a town, and it’s a town that we all love together.
Okay enough of that. So there we were, sitting at this year’s parade on the sidewalk, eating our sammiches when this group that a banner announced as “Pony Party” started advancing down the street. Before I could even ask the kids if they wanted a pony for Christmas this year, one of those ponies, it partied! In fact, it partied right in front of our very own group! And by partied, I mean that it pooped.
This voice in my head started up:
Not to worry, folks, the pooper scooper is right on it…here he comes now…the scooper is in position…and…OHHHH! Oh dear! The poop did not scoop! No, no! Instead, in its place there is now a skid mark the size of…it’s the exact size of MrsMouthy’s family! Right there on the road! Well this sure adds some interest to our—oh my, the gymansts are coming now, and this year they are walking the entire parade route on their hands!
Okay, the gymnasts weren’t right behind the Pony Party, but poo was definitely an unwanted addition to many people’s parade floats this year. As the parade continued, our side of the parade switched from waving and yelling, “Woo-hoo!” at the floats to wincing and groaning, “Ooooooh!” each time someone’s path lined up exactly with the skid mark.
There was also a lot of *click* *click* as I tried to get the perfect picture of someone stepping in pony poo.
Of course, right after that pony did its thang, the wind picked up, blowing east off the lake right to where we sat, so we watched the rest of the parade from inside a virtual fart bubble.
The parade had a lot of other memorable entries: WWII vets, Vietnam vets, POWs and MIAs, an Injured Veteran Golfing Club, the Dolorean Club, the Seafair Pirates firing off their canon, even some midwest high school band that the Grand Marshall flew in just for our parade. Did I take any pictures of them? Did I write more than two sentences about them?
It’s times like this that I really miss teaching junior high.
WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Hot dogs on the fire pit