"Fried" My cell phone rings again. It is futile to ignore it anymore; Valerie is persistent. When Valerie wants something, stre will continue to bedevil me until I acquiesce. "Hello," I answer. "State Fair , Bobbie?" she asks in her singsong voice. "When are we heading out? Only two more days left!" I abhor the State Fair. The boisterous crowds, the insanely long lines and the impossibility of finding a clean restroom all combine to make this an event that I dread. For Valerie, my best friend since the angst of middle school, the State Fair is a sign that divine powers really do exist. "Really, Bobbie, where else can you pet a cow, ride a horse, fall ten stories, see the world's smallest person and eat fried macaroni and cheese?" Valerie asks gleefully. "Hades?" I guess. The fried food at the State Fair is a gastronomical nightmare on its own. I once tried a fried pickle at the fair and was sick to my stomach for hours. And a fried donut hamburger with bacon, cheese AND greasy egg? How could that not be deleterious? Thave not seen Valerie for a good month, our schedules are both so hectic My hatred of the State Fair becomes inconsequential compared to my desire to hang with Val. Alas, I ignore my anti-fair bias f the umpteenth year. "Pick me up at noon," I say and hang up the phone. finish the rest of the story in bobbies point of view​