Okay, I should elaborate. Sunday, best friend thing and I are going to King Richard’s Faire in Carver. The title of this post is in celebration of the bountiful cleavage we will see everywhere. Perhaps we shall see our own. Huzzah!
I can only remember a handful of years that I haven’t gone. My mother used to take me when I was a kid, right up until I was about seventeen. She stopped going around then; either she was sick of it, or the over priced EVERYTHING was just a turn off for her, but I still adore it. I end up spending way too much money on costumes, food, and jewelry. Too bad this year I’m a bit too financially strapped to justify buying another corset.
It’s odd. I don’t really watch too many of the shows when I go. The dancers are always an allure, and Lauren is obsessed with hawks so we’ll watch any kind of bird show that might be going on. Theater-wise, though? We don’t take in too many of the skits. I figure we go more for the shopping and the food; some of the things you get there you simply can’t get anywhere else. They have the most amazing silver pieces. Also, where else can you buy hand crafted leather masks? Not that I’ve ever bought one, but I always look.
I think at this point it’s just tradition for me to go, and I hope it’s a tradition that sticks around even though nothing overly shiny or new ever shows up. The place is crawling with pretentious theater kids in cloaks (which I’m sure makes Marty’s eyes burn), but we have a good time anyway. Maybe we really just go to look at good looking guys with long hair and tights. Maybe it’s . . .
Nah. Forget it. Let’s face it. It’s the dudes in tights.