As I continue my post operative vigil, I have decided to keep Peter busy tonight by taking him to the Taste of our City. These popular events seem to be crossing the Midwest, fairs where the tents line up and the vendors entice you with the idea of good eats. So, Peter and I went off to our version of the "Taste". I am feeling quite smug as I am thinking this is a great idea, entertaining for Peter, a mother and son bonding event, no car washing or cleaning involved....why I should go up for mother of the year. We park and proceed to walk to those white capped tent, and I anticipate the variety of food available, an opportunity to try something new and exciting. I am just feeling so good about this I should be sitting at the back seat of a convertible, waving that wave...look at me..mother and son...isn't this cute.
We enter, along with the scores of other food seekers who are looking sideways in anticipation of their meal. No one really is looking forward or straight ahead, as the tents line the side of the walkway, and one must take in all the menu's before making a decision. So with twisted necks, we began our bonding walk. And as I am looking, anticipating my dinner of various ethnic groups, taco's, steak on a stick, no egg rolls. I notice Peter picking up the pace. Politely, I remind him to slow down, it's crowded, Peter, and those reminders become louder as he plows along, he of course looking straight ahead, and brushing against those with twisted necks. Little did I know, he had been there earlier in the day, and obviously had scoped out his fare. My idea of fine cuisine is fading fast as I pick up the pace. Now, trying to dodge anyone leisurely enjoying this experience I tail Pete to his final destination. Weaving and winding, with many a near miss of walking bodies, panting and almost out of breath, we arrive at our tent. Here we are, this will be our dining experience, we have made it, breathless, to the hot dog stand where Peter has already put in his order, and I deciding there is no option of fine dining, add mine. And so we eat,with again an amazing record pace, but not without the conversation about the ice cream stand next to the hot dog stand. So, we go over the need to eat the hot dog before the ice cream. Eat the dog first, Peter which he dutifully consumes within minutes as I am once again, trying to keep up. Swallowing off we head for Gelato...that magnificent form of ice cream that is next to highway robbery and needed to be eaten with this minuscule spoon before it becomes some form of liquid. Of course, this wonderful delightful treat only lands on Peter's lap and he gives up. I, thinking of the eight dollars I just handed over for this tiny treat, scooped it back into the cup, now consume both his and mine...disregarding any calorie count at this point.Why, we cannot waste this divine form of ice cream, now can we?