Feels like we hit up a lot of carnivals this year. I can safely say that I am carnivaled out. Carnivaled out should be in the urban dictionary alongside a photo of sweaty, angry parents and the description: When parents of young children cannot spend another second purchasing $10 tickets to then hand over 5 tickets to some carnie zombie so their kid can spend two minutes on the whoop-de-do ride only to have said child request to ride again. And again. And again.
Whoop-de-do ride is totally something my grandma would've said. In her time she also called a Big Gulp from 7/11 a "Big Gulch". As in:
"Here's a kwarter. Run downt tha store and git Gramma one a them Big Gulches. Fill it with Tab."
In the eighties, when Gramma got her very first microwave, she asked my dad if he would hook up her brand new "rightgoatwave". Swear. To. God.
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