Fairs and Feet

This morning I went to the Homeschool Book Fair with my friend, Kate. We live on opposite sides of town, so we agreed to meet there. I drove into downtown Fort Worth, paid for my parking, and walked toward the Fort Worth Convention Center. Meanwhile, I texted Kate to ask her where we were meeting.

“I’m hanging out by the front door inside to the right.”

Fabulous. I looked at the convention center and tried to figure out which door was the front door. I’m pretty sure that place holds the record for Most Entrances into a City Convention Center. I started to walk around it to find the front entrance, texting just in case to ask which one it was.

“Follow the hoards!” And then… “The door facing the ballpark.”

There’s a ballpark? Well, sort of, but not really near the convention center. I looked around. No hoards. Maybe the hoards were on the other side of the building, where this so-called ballpark was? So while I walked the perimeter looking for the entrance facing the nonexistent ballpark, I began to get a sinking feeling in my gut. I sat on a boulder, pulled out my phone, and looked up the Homeschool Book Fair website.

It was in Arlington. It was actually in the town I live in and I drove all the way here instead. And I paid five bucks to park. Cue dramatic sigh.

Trek back to car. Drive thirty minutes to Arlington. Pay five bucks to park (again). Walk into (correct) convention center. Whew!

But then there was this other problem…

The previous night while I was sitting in my husband’s office chair I kept smelling this odor. Like feet. I was smelling feet. I looked around, trying to find the source, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. Eventually it faded, and I lost interest.

Fast forward to today. I got in the car, and I smelled feet again. What was the deal? I mean, really! Was the smell following me? But I turned on the car, pumped out the A/C, turned on the radio, and was soon transported away by the tunes wafting into my ears. When I eventually arrived at the proper convention center (*ahem*) and walked in, I paused just inside the big double doors to get my bearings. There it was again. Feet. Followed by yet another sinking feeling.

It was me.

I reeked. My pants, my shirt, and the shirt I had worn the night before all came from the same load of laundry. Evidently it had sat in the washer a little too long before being moved to the dryer.

I shuffled off, dejected, to find Kate, my stench clearing the way ahead of me through all the clean, non-feet-smelling bodies. Would all these people think I had horrible foot odor? Which was worse, smelly feet or smelly clothes? Did it even matter? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to enjoy the fair.

And I did.


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