A Mostly Perfect Day

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Fun is an old time folk festival. That’s what Carpenter Country’s short one thought when she and a friend decided to attend the event.

And it was fun–except for a few egg-on-the-face incidents.

The first oh-oh moment came when they were pulling into their destination and the short one realized she’d left her pocketbook at home. A quick turnaround to fetch the purse was in order since it contained a vital document–her driver’s license.

Twenty high blood pressure minutes later, the gals were back at the festivities. “Okay,” the short one said, as she parked and dropped her car keys in her pocket. “Let’s check out the tour of early twentieth century homes.”

Tickets were sold at the concession stand and as the Docent waited patiently for the money, the short one’s friend realized her wallet was empty. A quick loan eased the adrenaline rush that reddened her face.

The two were still laughing about their mishaps as they strolled through the homes built in the days when phosphate mining made the area residents temporarily wealthy. While smaller than mansions on the rich and famous social register, most of the houses featured large wraparound porches, beaded board walls and heart of pine floors. One even sported leaded and stained glass windows. Fancy décor for its day.

It was nearing noon when they passed the pig-on-a-spit-roast in the park. And though they’d snacked on warm apple cider and cookies at each home, BBQ sounded good. That it came with cornbread and a-pickle-on-a-stick was even better.

After lunch, as they walked through a field filled with crafters making buckets, spinning yarn and weaving rugs, the short one smiled. “It’s been a perfect day,” she said. “Now if only–”

“–we didn’t have all those embarrassing moments,” her friend cut in with a grin.

The short one patted her pockets. “I was going to say–if only I can find my car keys.”

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We write. Visit us in Carpenter Country, a magical place that, like our stories, is unreal but not untrue.

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