As soon as I reached the faire ground I tripped over five tree roots in a row and stubbed my big tow at least three times.
I needed mead so that I could fly over these damn tree roots gracefully.
The Southern California Renaissance Pleasure Faire used to be held in Devore, California, thirty miles closer to my home ( And I swear way less tree roots to trip over!) About three years ago the group lost rights to the venue and now we voyage to Irwindale a few times every April to put on fancy costumes, sip on honey mead and dance around in the April sunshine with a bunch of other loony people who like things like medieval sword fighting, jousting, naughty humorous shows, cider oh yeah and boobs; did I mention there are boobs at the Renaissance faire?
We did not see her this year so I fear she may have succumbed to No Nipple Disease.
These are the kind of conversations you have at faire as you wander for hours down the dusty faire streets sipping on mead or cider.
The best thing about after faire is washing your dirty black and brown dusty faire feet.