The summer of my almost 50 birthday and it was great to be a kid again. Little Italy and their street fair turned me into a little girl. Being the goofball in our group, I wondered if I’d been taken seriously during other parts of our day. So, when I wanted to play a carnival game, I didn’t think I’d have any takers. How wrong I was. Of course my gangsta turned documentarian bestie would join me. Why wouldn’t she want to take up a gun in Manhattan, shoot water at a bullseye and get it all on film? The only thing missing for her and I to tell our story was a leading man. Or several.
We were ready to lock-and-load but the barker wasn’t turning on the guns until he had a few more dollars to make a splash of cash. My impatient and creative self gave him some feedback. “Get the sailors over here.” His muse over the microphone wasn’t amusing enough. Some quick musing on my part and I told him to tell them, “It’s a water game! How can you loose?”
Let’s just say after a few more choruses, they took the bait. When I was little, I certainly didn’t dream about fishing for sailors. Navy men were uncles and heroes. And now that I was old enough to be the aunt, the sailors were young enough to be my nephews. Oh well. That just meant we could teach them a thing or two. I was supposed to win but my girlfriend had my back. She grabbed us the win. She selected a stuffed Hello Kitty prize. The sailors lost, in fact also got stuffed!, and were the good-bye booby prize.
Of course, we navigated the terms. They could only submerge back into the crowd after I went to the dark side. I still needed a moment to accept my own loss. I screamed, “What the hell?!” and stomped in my little girl tantrum circle. Not that I was competitive. It was only a water game. WHERE THE GIRLS BEAT THE NAVY BOYS! In fact, we swabbed the deck with their asses. Not that any of us noticed. We just wanted a picture for our scrapbooks. See you later boys. We got what we wanted. And we knew how to get it. Water worked.