The Farmer fully admits that he’s no farmer, despite the shared namesake with authentic farmers. Nevertheless, he took his family to the Salem Country (NJ) 4H Fair. It being a county fair, and this being the United States of America, he procured fried pickles, "Irish Nachos" (tater tots smothered in cheddar cheese and topped with bacon), and fried mozzarella sticks for his family. No wait, we’ve shamefully skipped the appetizers: Cotton Candy and Funnel Cakes. But that’s it, because we’re just modest folk who don’t like to overindulge. Besides, the lines were too crowded when we were going back to the car, making a celebratory post-fair milkshake out of the question. Mmm, milkshakes.
After all that food (and no drinks, because the farmer only has two hands and nobody was around to help carry the vittles at the time of their acquisition) it was getting near time to leave, so a bathroom soiree was in order for the lady-folk. Off they trooped to the nearest porta-potty, which was tucked discreetly behind another building. In trooped all three ladies (ages 4, 7, and too-old-to-say).
Have you ever seen Dr. Who? That little telephone booth is really a full-sized space craft, and it’s just remarkable. It’s safe to assume (in fact, you can bet your house on it) that the rented porta-potty at the fair doesn’t have the physics-bending qualities of the Tardis. But let’s not squat dwell on what that porta-potty, on day 4/5 of the fair, must have been like with all three occupants jostling for elbow room; shudder. The farmer loitered nearby, belly warm and rumbly from the delicious food, chuckling contentedly. As he awaited their return from another dimension, where they were no doubt battling fouler foes than any Daleks encountered by Dr. Who, a line began to form outside the porta-potty. Another family with multiple children waited a minute, then approached the porta-potty, and the seeming mother jiggled the handle and put an ear to the door. So as not to be properly associated with his family, the Farmer slowly began to wander away, whistling and stealing sideways glances at the scene developing outside the porta-potty. At that moment, another woman came rushing around the building, carrying a toddler. Yet another woman, part of the same entourage, was rushing close behind her, and clearly shouted, "you’re just gonna have to squat her down somewhere if the porta-potty’s full." The Farmer wandered even further from the porta-potty-party, sure that three moms were about to engage in hand-to-hand combat, and not wanting to get in the middle of it.
Mom 1 (The Farmer’s Wife): "I’m trying to go as fast as possible with three people in a porta-potty, and you’re all banging on the door out here!Do you want to join us in here?"
Mom 2: "Yeah well, I’ve been waiting our here for several minutes, trying to get my kid to hold it, while you do who-knows what with that crowd of yours!"
Mom 3: "listen, mine’s about to go–nope, she already went, and it’s all your fault!"
Well, that fight didn’t develop, thankfully, but the Farmer’s Wife, graceful as usual, hurried from the bathroom to let the other Mom’s fight over the sordid Tardis.
As we rounded the corner, the Farmer was amused to find that the very building we had been behind, where the porta-potty was located? Yout guessed it, it was a whole building dedicated for bathrooms, one Men’s, one Women’s, no lines.
The moral of the story? Get your milkshake before the line gets too long.
😂😂😂😂👍😂😂