My husband has a raging case of bilateral conjunctivitis. In English, that means he has, in both eyes, "pink eye," only in his case it should be called "blazing red scary eye." He's pretty frightening to look at, but I figure that's going to work to our advantage tomorrow when we go to an amusement park. With those nasty eyes, he can part crowds like Moses parted the Red Sea, and we should be able to get right to the head of the line. No one's going to touch him unless they're wearing a HazMat suit and can take a shower in bleach immediately afterward.
Why *I'm* going to this park is a mystery. I don't do fast rides. I don't do upside down rides. I don't do twisty rides. And I especially don't do fast, twisty rides that go upside down. Which means I pretty much only ride the merry-go-round. So there I'll be, a dorky middle-aged woman on a ride with a bunch of two year olds in ruffled sundresses and their weary parents, happily riding my safe pink pony up and down, round and round. Who needs Prozac when you can ride a pink pony? I just hope I don't have any problems with Security. "Hey, Frank, keep an eye on that fruitcake over in the kiddie section. She's wearing a weird pair of glasses and Birkenstocks, and keeps riding the merry-go-round over and over. We suspect she might be some kind of drugged out hippie who thinks she's Mary Poppins."
I blame Ray Bradbury for my fear of rides. Way back in junior high, I read a fictional story of his about the first riders on a new, fast roller coaster, and who all ended the ride dead of broken necks. Yeah. I think Ray Bradbury could scare the pants off Stephen King and his entire family and his dog and even his car, which is (supposedly) inanimate.
It should be a great day for my kids. Not only will they get to lose all their dental fillings on a bunch of dangerous rides, they'll get to pretend they don't know me. Until they have to come claim me from the Security Office.