“Oh Bozo, I never knew it could be like this.”
The circus always freaked me out inside. On the outside, I was fine. “Yay, circus… as long as I can eat peanuts.” But not on the inside. My inside was all, “Shit, the damn circus.”
It wasn’t the clowns. Everyone is always bitching about the clowns. I have no beef with clowns. Mimes, yes. Mimes are super freaky. Why are you in a box? Why are you holding a flower but everything else is expressed through gestures and accompanied by music? Yikes. Clowns, whatever. Unless we are talking about the clown from It, and I don’t think we are.
The circus freaked me out for many reasons. The complete “freak show” of it all was a big part of it, and I’m not talking the “bearded lady” or the “tattooed man”… that was never part of the circus I grew up with. Now that I live in Florida that is the crazy shit you see at the fair. I’d never been to a fair in New York. The fair is a completely different post. The freak show part of the circus (for me) was that it was a stage show, not like Shakespeare in the Park or My Fair Lady, those are actual stage shows; but that it had all of these animals and performers looking like they belonged somewhere else. I cannot think of a single thing stranger than seeing an elephant in the same place I have seen a hockey game. That’s just fucking ridiculous. I’m not even a huge animal rights advocate but at 7 years old, when my grandmother took me to the circus, I knew it didn’t fit.
As a Stay-At-Home-Mom I’m with my kids all day, every day.
ALL DAY, EVERY DAY.
If you’re not a Stay-At-Home-Parent just let that resonate a little bit. Let it marinate in your brain until you feel it. Do you feel it? Good. If you are at home, like me, know this, I FEEL YOU!
On Sunday, my husband doesn’t work, and under normal circumstances I usually get some sort of reprieve from my band of merry men. I don’t get mani’s or pedi’s or massages or facials. Usually, I just leave the house for an hour. 60 minutes where I don’t have to do shit for anyone else. That is 1 hour for me out of the 168 for everyone else. Boom.
Until recently.
Hubby has been coaching a soccer team and they have had tournaments on Sunday for the last couple of weeks.
Today was the first Sunday Hubby had been home in a long while.
I NEEDED A BREAK.
As I grabbed my purse and keys to “go to the store” I said, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I’m gonna take my sweet ass time.” He smiled and nodded as I sprinted out the door like a teenager heading to a kegger.
As I put the key in the ignition I actually thought of just GOING…
Driving. Driving away. Far, far, away. Going to Key West… Or Miami… or joining the circus.
And that, my friends, THAT, is how batshit fucking crazy these kids can make you. They can drive you to the brink. Screw that, they can push you way beyond the brink. Screw that, I’m at the point where I don’t even recognize the brink. The brink? What brink? The fact that I even considered (just for one hot minute) running away to join the circus (an entity that I’ve always loathed in its entirety) as a happily ever after from my current home life situation says volumes in itself.
Besides, I don’t have nearly enough tattoos.
Photo credit: Ringling Circus clown Lou Jacobs with Carla Wallenda: Sarasota, Florida
4 Thoughts on “Running Away and Joining The Circus”