Thank God the fried dough still had trans fats.

We’ve recently had a few days of really warm weather. What better way was there to enjoy the heat than to hit the Great Outdoors? Well, not Great Outdoors as in a hike around a Great Trail, or a trip to a Great Beach. Not even Great as in a nice brisk stroll around the Great Block. Nope. When this family hits the Great Outdoors, we drive to it. And by “it,” I mean a Great Carnival.

“Wait until you see the carnival!” I crowed to Aura, threading my way through the traffic gridlock in the parking lot. Digging deep within my own childhood memories, I waxed poetic. “The scent of fried food! The nauseating pull of the      Tilt-a-Whirl! The strange allure of heavily tattooed but most probably friendly carnival workers!”

Then we walked through the gates. MY, HOW TIMES HAVE CHANGED.

When the above poster is the first thing to greet you upon entering, you know that this is not the Carnival of Your Childhood. Apparently, this is the Carnival of the Magicians Who Have Bleached Their Teeth One Time Too Many. “Where are the heavily muscled but most probably friendly carnival acts?” I whispered to Adam. Alas, there was not a bearded lady or midget weightlifter in sight. Instead, there was this…Lance Gifford. Not to cast politically incorrect aspersions or anything, but Lance looked a little light in the loafers for my taste, with nary a muscle or tattoo.

We continued down the midway. As Aura inspected the games, I found myself distracted by the booths’ decor. You know we’re in an economic downturn when Christmas gift bags are used for booth trimmings. In April. Though I suppose polar bears always need scarves, it being pretty cold in the Arctic Circle and all.

Dated decorations be damned, Aura found a game to play. And since this is supposedly a mommy blog, I shall now insert the obligatory cute-child photo. Even if the child shown is holding an entirely age-inappropriate sharp object. You can’t really tell from the photo, but the guy in charge of the game was totally protecting his genital area with his right hand. TOTALLY.

After Aura won a stuffed animal that looks like the love child of a tailless monkey and the universe’s most unfortunate alien, I felt a brief flicker of encouragement. Children still played and won games at carnivals! It WAS as I remembered, minus the blip that was Lance Gifford.

Then I saw the sign.

“Adam!” I hissed, gesturing toward the knock-over-the-cans booth. “Can you believe that sign?!?” Adam looked confused, and I sighed at having to spell out the obvious. “‘Win A iPod’? A iPod? It should be ‘an iPod’!” I think it was at this point that Adam took Aura firmly by the hand and disappeared. Undeterred, I briefly considered approaching the woman working the booth and requesting that she change the sign. Then I took a better look at her. I may be a stickler for grammar, but suicidal I am not.

Happily, some other things remained the same. For one, there was fried dough.

Unhappily, there was also this…station.

Since Adam and Aura were still pretending not to know me, I was left to face this intrusion of modern hygiene alone. “Clean hands? At a carnival?” I tsk-tsked to myself. What’s next, I ask you? Actual toilet paper in the Porta-Potties?

I meandered farther along the midway, checking out the sights as I tried to understand this paradoxical carnival, where hand sanitizer abounded yet no one knew enough to use the indefinite article an before a vowel sound. I soon caught sight of Aura, who was posing with Elmo. Well, perhaps “posing” is too strong a word. “Trying with all of her might to escape” might be more accurate.

You know, before that moment, I had never once taken note of Elmo’s dental situation. Not a tooth in his head, that one. And on this particular Elmo, it wasn’t a cute kind of toothless. It was more the I-completely-forgot-to-put-in-my-dentures kind of toothless.

Yet even Elmo looked snappy compared to Barney, who was also strolling the carnival in search of photo opportunities. I can’t be positive, but I’d put good money down on any bet that said ol’ Barn was wearing a colostomy bag under his costume. Either that or a hula hoop.

I scooted closer to Aura, intent on warning her to stay away from this suspiciously lumpy Barney. Then I realized the child was already surrounded by warnings. For example:

I’m curious as to whether this sign works. I don’t picture a drunk guy seeing the second warning, identifying himself as someone with an Alcohol or Drug Problem, and getting out of line for the Ferris wheel. Then again, I can be kind of judgmental.

I kind of enjoyed the other warning sign I saw. I rather like the idea that Heart Troubles are healed with a simple band-aid to the ticker. I’m especially heartened to see that even those with Recent Surgery or Illness are chipper souls, thermometer and hand bandages notwithstanding.

I know, I know. When you pair my enjoyment of warning signs with my distaste for grammatically incorrect carnival signs, you really want to hang out with me. Like REALLY, REALLY want to hang out with me. Right?

You’re in luck. The carnival returns next year.