Man, what a weekend. It was a very memorable weekend and for three entirely different reasons. Let’s go with the bad first.
Oh that effervescent smell of manure and garlic. I’m talking about the Gilroy Garlic Festival. It’s a flea market looking festival that happens every year and my wife, for some reason unknown to man, decided that this year, we must go and take the kids. Even though I shouldn’t have, I said yes. Usually during the middle of the week, my wife will have these outrageous weekend plans, and when the weekend comes, she decides to clean the house and we just spend quiet weekends at home. This is how I figured it would be. But no, on Saturday morning, she decides that it is a must that we go. I act like I didn’t remember her telling me during the week that we would go, but that didn’t faze her. We were going and we were going to have fun. Now, I don’t mean this as a slap in the face against the people of Gilroy, but my idea of fun didn’t include hobnobbing with a bunch of drunk red asses. What is a red ass? Usually someone who mixes alcohol and sun and gets testy. On Saturday, I had my share of red asses.
It took us an hour and a half to get to Gilroy that morning. And we even took shortcuts. The kids were fussy, I had finished reading Dave Meltzer so I was fussy, and the wife had enough of the traffic. I fell asleep at one point and she slapped me because the baby hadn’t. So we finally get in the parking lot and we are parking on hay. My feelings about Gilroy were right on point once I saw the hay.