Another weekend, another small town parade
Oh, there was a parade, all right.
A parade of cocktails. Check out my Girls Gone Wild rendering of my drink, a homemade margarita.
There were jalopies.
And cowgirls riding tandem on horseback.
And strange clowns.
And plenty of candy thrown
at to kids.
I had no clue what we were supposed to be celebrating.
The glory of living in a small town, perhaps? The problem with small town parades is that it’s hard to tell what vehicles are part of the parade, and which are passing traffic. Does Granddad’s Sentra look like a float to you?
That doesn’t look like a float either.
Thank goodness for the caravan of dune buggies.
And muscle cars. Make that, one muscle car, singular.
And all the fire trucks, which blasted their sirens as they passed by.
Baby June didn’t appreciate the scary noises very much. (Is it wrong for a mom to snap a photo while her child is distressed? Is it? I can’t tell.)
Nothing earplugs can’t fix, right, June? June? Earth calling June. Can you hear me, June?
For more about fun times at small town parades, read this previous post.