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lodged from my skull causing the world to spin every time I opened my eyes.
I expected my sister’s sympathy, but that’s not what I got. She belted out, “Are you insane? Don’t you know that after you turn 30, you can’t spin any more?”
I managed to open my eyes to look at her for a second, hovering over me. I calmly said, “No, I didn’t know that.”
No one ever gave me a manual that outlined such age-related afflictions, so how was I to know that I couldn’t spin any more? My spinning and comeand- go nausea lasted for two full days after my ride on The Wiz, and I made a personal vow to never spin again. And I haven’t.
Back to the story I wrote last week about Georgia’s fairs… I finally found someone who shared a short, sweet fair story with me that didn’t involve throwing up or lying down on the ground. Her story had to do with traditions and fun and growing up and feeling like a little kid again. That’s what I was looking for.
Pretty soon, as the oppressive heat of the summer begins to lift, fairs will set up in parking lots and fairgrounds all over the Peach State. I plan to go to one this year, but I won’t dare step on one of those spinning rides. Nope. Never, ever again!