Mark Megahan
I never would have imagined that I’d be off to the heart of Amish country to celebrate Mardi Gras this year but that’s the way it worked out. I have reservations for the Fat Tuesday Party thrown by a group of local Italians. It promises to be an interesting experience.
An Amish twist
The whole idea dawned on me out of the blue while I was doing my dishes recently. That’s a chore I’m not used to doing but I broke up with my girlfriend just before Valentine’s Day. She’d been moping around since Christmas when she didn’t get a ring.
I figured I’d better cut her loose before February rolled around or I’d be stuck with her. As I scrubbed three day old cheese off a plate I started musing that I needed one of those Amish girls who’re born and raised to do housework.
Getting rid of her wasn’t difficult. I simply told her I got the clap from a hooker. I lovingly assured her that she didn’t need to see a doctor since she wouldn’t let me near her for days. If she had, I wouldn’t have the clap, I added.
None of it was true but this way she won’t be calling me in a week wanting to try and work it out. By the time she gets over her homicidal fury, I should be happily hooked up with the Amish girl of my dreams.
As soon as I finished the dishes, I hit the internet to find out what’s going on during Spring Break week in Amish country. They may be primitive and afraid of electricity but they’re smart enough not to try to keep their kids from having a taste of freedom.
They call it Rumspringa and the girls are allowed to go as wild as they want, to get it out of their system. What I needed was to meet one of them. Who knows? She might even end up with that ring the other one wasn’t going to get.
Fat Tuesday
The events page for Lancaster County tourism had one which popped right out. “On Tuesday, March 4th, the Log Cabin Restaurant will host an Italian Carnival celebration organized by the Keystone Italian Project.”
They may not be Amish but they’re having a Mardi Gras party half way between Bareville and Intercourse. It was like a sign from God.
In Italy, the host proclaims, “it’s the season of ‘Carnevale‘ with feasts, parades and parties.” All I need is an Amish date, I thought. Teasing an innocent girl with “opulent costumes and masked balls” should be almost too easy to be sporting. I booked a table for two.
That’s when I remembered that big stack of 100 watt generator kits at the wholesale overstock store. They’re meant to hook up to a bicycle and can power your laptop. They were moving nowhere at a price of $200. I offered the guy 25 bucks apiece for the whole load and his guys packed them in a rental trailer for me.
One afternoon at the local flea market over the weekend should let me pay for the trip. I kept the sign pricing them at $200, X’d it over with a marker and wrote $100. I plan to set one up so the Amish kids can take turns riding it. It’ll be rigged to power a water pump to shoot a fountain up from a kiddie pool.
That way, they can compete with their friends to see who can shoot the highest spray of water, their father will want to buy one and I can flirt with their sisters until I get an Amish date for the big Carnival. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?
