Monday, December 31, 2012

Tomayto, Tomahto

The Ren fest was lovely as always; the Bakery and Mill with its working water wheel and grindstone, the Glassblowers’ shop with it’s fake bellows fed fire and the bright yellow twenty foot rocking horse with is human engine were all overflowing with people. I had avoided Ye Royal Games for years, truly there only to support my brother and his Robin Hood show, and take a handful of good pictures if I got so lucky. But this year I felt a little rowdy for some reason, quite unlike me since the days when my rowdiness would find me questioned by police.

Hit the loudmouth with the tomato was calling me, by description actually. It was when the young cur behind a ten by ten wall stuck his head through a hole, below which was painted the rest of his body, were he an eighth century hillbilly, and shouted out as I passed that I was both fat AND ugly that I was finally suckered into the con’s covered table where I plucked down a few greenbacks and grabbed my ammunition.

I couldn’t have planned it better I thought when the first of my three slightly split Big Boys flew out of my hand and a dozen yards from the mark. The con pushed his head and nearly an entire shoulder through the hole in the backboard, taunting that I couldn’t hit the broad side of a siege engine as I corrected for my aim and toned down my zeal while upping my speed.

If he were old enough to have hair on his baby faced cheek, I’d have scraped it off with tomato skin as my rocket lit his hair afire before exploding on the wall to his right. But like any good barker he cranked up the vitriol once again as I cranked up my grade school pitching arm, and before the crowd that had gathered, I sent off my last gift.

It was just a game I suppose, and I was just playing along, not offended by his slurs in the least. So I probably shouldn’t have thrown that hard. And he was fast, I’ll give him that, but almost not fast enough. He yanked his head back through the hole as my tomato passed overhead, taking his hat with it on its way to the parking lot well behind him. After a few minutes of applause had died down, he slowly stuck his head out and goaded me in an actor’s quivery voice. But I wasn’t tempted. I have but a few miracles up my sleeve,yet  even fewer coins.

No comments:

Post a Comment