The Short Bus

Five years ago, Brian surprised me with a little weekend getaway to the coast. He booked a room at a romantic bed and breakfast and made plans for an activity the following day.

The bed and breakfast was wonderful. We walked on the beach in the moonlight, and the wonderful host told us to sleep with the windows open so we could hear the waves crashing on the rocks, but to keep the fire roaring so we wouldn't get cold.

That was the best sleep I've ever gotten, I tell you.

The next morning we dined with the other guests and enjoyed hearing where everyone was from and what their plans for the weekend were.

Then it was our turn to share our plans.

"We're going to a medieval festival today," Brian explained.

Everyone at the table oohed and aahed. It sounded really fun, they thought. Heck, another couple even decided that they would go, too.

The festival was on top of a wooded hill that overlooked the sea, and there was no parking, so all guests had to be bussed in.

As Brian and I patiently waited for the bus to come and pick us up, we silently observed the people that were showing up for this thing.

There were those that were like Brian and me. The curious.

And then there were...the rest.

Remember how your friend had that one weird brother who played alot of Magic and Warcraft, had kinda greasy hair, and had a collection of those ceramic dragons that hold marbles in their talons and have half naked maidens on their backs?

Well, this was his festival.

And there were hundreds of others just like him.

It wasn't like people in costume who do this to entertain the tourists. It was like these people thought they WERE medieval and this was some kind of odd, Lord-Of-The-Rings-meets-Robin-Hood alternate reality.

So there we were, realizing that this was going to be an event for the record books, when the bus pulled up. We got on and settled in.

The girl in front of us was wearing some getup that looked fairly elvish and I think she may have even had elven ears stuck on. One of the fellow revelers saw her and, being similarly attired, said, "Tis a lovely dress, m'lady. Didst thou make it thyself?"

Brian and I looked at each other, each of us slightly terrified. But by then, it was too late, the bus was already rolling.

And that was how we spent our first anniversary.