Not an afro. Not yet a Jheri Curl...

Hoping to score points with my part-time employers, I volunteer to man the Daily Bee booth at the county fair on Saturday. This is my first small town fair...I'm thoroughly enchanted. Who knew people actually give out ribbons for best tasting muffins and what-not? No ferris wheels, no roller coasters, just cows and sheep and handicrafts. The whole affair smacked of Mayberry...it was adorable.

As I sit behind my little desk with my knitting, my library copy of The Hours, and my cynical big city brown eyes, I can't help but notice how a good portion of the Idaho population could be interchanged with a good portion of the Texas population and no one would know the difference. FFA boys with dark colored jeans and skoal rings, big belt buckles, county fair queens with their little tiaras and Ropers....I'm starting to feel at home.

Just as I begin to tally the potential Texans in the crowd, I'm met with an unexpectant shock, nearly plunging me into a full on -reach-for-the-prozac-anxiety attack.

Three words: Ronald Freakin' McDonald.

Now, we all agree that clowns in general are never amusing and should be hunted for sport. At the very least locked away in a clown prison heavily guarded with guns and electric fences. This is understood. Nazis are evil. Clowns are less evil but harder to look at.

So I see this shock of red hair, garish white paint, bright yellow jumper....I duck my head. For some reason yet unknown to me, maybe some repressed childhood drama, this fast food icon makes me queasy. Ronald McDonald is creepy enough, peddling his "Happy Meals" to small children, trying to stay hip through the decades. But a non-clownish man impersonating Ronald McDonald is absolutely revolting.

To begin, the costume is dingy. The dinginess evokes some kind of homeless Ronald McDonald squatting in an alley, cigarette in one hand, bagged malt liquor in the other. His raspy voice telling tales of his rapid decline..."It was the Hamburglar that did us in. That bastard embezzled millions..."

The hair...on tv it's just some amorphous red mass....not an afro, not yet a jheri curl. In person it's just a scarlet nest of nastiness. I'm reminded of grandmas getting their hair set so they can't wash it again for a week. Once more, I'm compelled to look away.

Yet even with diverted eyes, I can't escape his terrifying voice.

This particular Mickey D pretender never attempted a clown-like voice. Why make the effort? So he's walking around, trying to interact with children and adults alike, painted up like a clown hooker, gruffly addressing fair attendees with a "Hey, how are ya? What'ya got here? Far out."

Far out. I tried to be polite when he asked about my booth. "What's this...the paper? I don't live here but if I did I'd get one from ya," he said in his man-voice. Good gravy, is Ronald McDonald flirting with me? Have I hit the low point of my womanhood? A dingy, gruff, middle aged clown-man winking at me with his painted eyes?

Excuse me while I stick my naturally red head in the oven.

Part of me hoped this freak wasn't actually affiliated with McDonalds in any way. I'd like to think the manufacturers of my crazy delicious quarter pounders with cheese (no pickles, no onions, thankyouverymuch) wouldn't knowingly send this hideous monster my way.

But it appears they did. And now I have to take a scalding shower to wash off the clown stink.

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