It occurred to me that with August already upon us, I’d better start taking my blogging more seriously if I’m going to get in all ten of my top summer memories for this series.  So without further delay, please allow me to share with you the story that comes in at number eight and revisits my teenage years once again.

I had just paid my admission to the Frederick County Fair.  I was on my way to meet a date.  (Side Bar: Whenever I talk about having a date in these stories, please know that the girl I’m referring to went on to become my wife.  There are two reasons for this.  A. I’m not sure how thrilled my wife would be to read about other dates I went on.  And B. There weren’t that many other dates to write about.)

So I was on my way to meet my future wife, Angie, when I passed by a pavilion full of people sitting on picnic tables cheering on five other folks at a head table facing them.  “We need one more volunteer!” shouted a man with a microphone.  Then, as if God Himself handpicked me for this moment, the man on the mic looked directly into my eyes and yelled out, “How about you sir?”

I didn’t even know what he was inviting me to do, but my answer was a resounding “Absolutely!”  I jogged over to the pavilion and was seated at the head table.  The crowd was cheering for me already and I could feel my hat size grow a few notches.  I was given a clipboard with a piece of paper to sign.  I did so cheerfully.  I didn’t even bother reading it.  After all, that would have cut into my fifteen minutes of fame I was smack dab in the middle of.

The man with the mic studied my signature and then addressed the crowd again.  “Let’s give a warm Frederick County Fair welcome to Jay Foreman!”  The crowd cheered even louder and I gave them a cocky wave like I was some celebrity doing them a favor by gracing them with my presence.  Once the cheers died down, the man continued to speak.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Frederick County Fair Pie Eating Contest!”  Pie eating?  Are you kidding me?  He may as well have said to me, “Welcome to winning the lottery,” because that’s exactly how I felt.  I’m glad I hadn’t bothered wasting time reading the waiver I signed because joining this competition was a no-brainer.

And right when I thought my circumstances couldn’t get any better, they announced what kind of pies we’d be eating.  Blueberry.  God was continuing to smile down on me.  It just so happens that blueberry pie is my all-time favorite in the entire pie family.  I looked to both sides to scope out my opponents.  There was a little girl, two elderly men, a skinny guy who looked to be in his 40’s (which I also thought was old at the time. I now know better) and a teenage girl.  I smiled and started thinking about just how easy this victory was going to be.

Now if you’ve ever read any of my previous blogs, you know there’s always a twist.   For whatever reason, things usually don’t go well for me for too long.  This story is no exception.  Another six volunteers lined up behind all of us competitors and proceeded to tie our hands behind our backs.  This contest was apparently a ‘no-hands’ bout.  This caught me off guard for a second, but I quickly regrouped.  I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve eaten my fair share of food without using my hands.  OK, I’m a little ashamed, but the point is that I wasn’t a novice when it came to this skill.  And to be honest, burying my face into a warm blueberry pie sounded kind of enticing.

Then came the second twist.  Right before we started, each of the pies had four enormous scoops of vanilla ice cream piled on top of them.  Some of you may be reading this and thinking, “So what?”  Allow me to explain.  At the risk of alienating myself from 95% of people in the country, I don’t really care for ice cream.  And saying I don’t really care for it is somewhat of an understatement.  I really can’t stand ice cream.  It’s because of my sensitive teeth.  If any ice cream ever touches my pearly whites, you will hear the most high-pitched girlish scream of your life.  The pain is excruciating.  Let me put it to you this way: If I had the choice between biting into an ice cream bar or receiving a colonoscopy, it would be a slam-dunk decision.  That ice cream bar would stay in the wrapper.

A cap gun was fired and the contest was under way.  Everyone else bit his or her way through the ice cream, which freaked me out.  Meanwhile I tried to nudge my scoops of vanilla grossness off of my pie with my nose.  Maybe if I could move them and get right to the pie, I could somehow salvage my chances of winning.  The ice cream didn’t move and I ended up burying my nose deeper and deeper into the scoops.  At some point during this debacle, the fans started to realize that I wasn’t eating and was just moving my food around like some 5-year-old who didn’t like his dinner.  And they started to boo me.  Yes.  At a family-friendly, good old-fashioned pie eating contest, the natives turned restless and booed me.  And they booed me unmercifully.

The contest ended after one hundred and twenty seconds.  The judge studied our plates to see who the winner was.  Everyone else’s pie was at least half eaten.  I hadn’t even tasted a bite of mine.  The judge was disappointed when he looked at my plate and he actually said to me, “You have compromised the integrity of this event.”  I didn’t know that could even be done, but apparently I had just done it.  I looked over at the little girl on the end of our table and saw she had her hand raised in victory.  She had finished her entire pie, ice cream and all.

After my hands were untied, I quietly slinked away avoiding any more interaction with these fans I had just alienated myself from.  As I walked toward the demolition derby arena, I couldn’t help but wonder why such a bad thing had just happened to such a good person as myself.

And when I realized why, I also had another life lesson to carry with me until today.  Always read the fine print.  Always.  Whether it’s related to work, school, church, community, or even a homemade contract your daughter draws up for you,  (Actually, especially if it’s a homemade contract your daughter draws up for you) always take time to understand the situation in its entirety before engaging.  We’re always more comfortable when we’re prepared; and we’ll never have to worry about ice cream touching our teeth.