See that top photo. My goodness. Tiny is hilaire. Seriously. Look at her face! I left her for one moment and she was horrified to be riding the ponies by herself. But holding her around the waist was not enough. So I sat on the back of her pony, and together we were going to gallop through green open fields, our horsie eating oaten hay, basking in the sunshine, trotting 'round the lakes, or even just going 'round and 'round in circles on the Carousel.You see, I don't ever remember going on such a lavish Carousel. Look how pretty it is.
When Matt and I went to Paris - about two hundred light years ago - we visited Montmartre, and the darn Carousel was closed down for repairs. I mean, dudes - I want to ride the Carousel. I want some Amelie action. But it was not to be. *Cue Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness*
Saturday at Luna Park. It was bound to be different. Vive la difference!
So there we were, ready to ride, and the carny comes around to do his last check before sending us on our ride - and then the damn man told me that I couldn't ride with Tiny. That I had to stand next to her. That this was a one person pony ride. Clearly he didn't get the fact that Tiny is called Tiny for a reason - she's a featherweight.
Thanks carnie. For taking my dreams. Smashing them to the ground, then stomping on them. Then letting your mongrel dog pee on them. Thanks for nothing punk.
