STATE FAIR FERRIS WHEEL My dating experience as an adolescent was like a small child touching a hot stove. Regardless of my intellect and hoards of advice from my older brother to not touch, I always seemed to end up with my ego burnt one way or another. The boyish desire for a girl to “like me” drove me to behave irrationally during that dreaded mating season of life. The painful memories of personal acts of stupidity and my complete ignorance of women and their mysterious needs still haunt the current perception of my male machismo.
I find it ironic that the following poem by one of my favorite humorists uses the word “promising.” I would replace it with the word “humiliating” in light of my memory of a blind date at the Fair.

I see nothing in space as promising as the view from a Ferris wheel. E. B. WHITE

Back when we were teenagers, a close friend and his girl arranged a blind date. They set me up with the girlfriend’s best friend. They thought that we would make the perfect couple. Plans were set to attend the State Fair that was in full swing. I love roller coasters, sky rockets, Ferris wheels, and rides that go up and down; but I can not handle rides that spin. Our blind date progressed along in a very cordial manner with us enjoying Pronto Pups, snow cones, and mountainous pink clouds of cotton candy. She was impressed with my adept skills while playing the games of the Midway’s arcade. I took pride in winning trinkets and keepsakes with which she could adorn her beautiful body and would serve as mementos of our perfect first date. We did seem meant for each other. The infatuation was untarnished until it came time to decide which rides we would experience together. She loved the rides that spin endlessly and I like the rides that go high. She hated heights, but she sought to be dizzy. Dizzy in my world translated into motion sickness, so this was the first test to this fresh relationship.
She insisted to make her happy she needed to spin and I reluctantly acquiesced in order to please her. The compromise we mutually agreed upon was that I would go on the Scrambler with her, then she would go on the Ferris wheel with me.
The Scrambler ride was just as I expected; the thrust and spins pushed our hot bodies crushingly together as we spun around and around. I would have enjoyed my body being rhythmically pressed up against this woman’s body if it were not for my stomach feeling as if it were ready to erupt. I exited the ride looking and feeling green with motion sickness. Trying desperately not to reveal my real pain, we proceeded to my preferred ride, the Ferris wheel.
The bright lights and multicolored splendor of this massive Ferris wheel invited couples to line up in order to be strapped in the rocking seats, cheek to cheek. There was not an empty car on the Ferris wheel as we began to rotate high into the cool dark evening skyline. Once we were hovering over the love birds seated immediately below us, my stoic self-control failed. I blew my cookies far and wide; showering the crowds with my stomach’s contents, splattering their heads, clothes, and anything exposed to my line of fire. I still can hear the groans of disgust from the unlucky victims from below.

"I see nothing in space as humiliating as my view from the Ferris wheel " Pat Foy Needless to say, I did not get a goodnight kiss and my ego was too fried to attempt any recovery from that regretful night’s first date. Life is learning; and sometimes it takes some spins on a Scrambler to really get that lesson across.