Pig Story. Oink.

August of 2009 Kamel and I decided to go to the Puyallup Fair – Washington State’s BIG fair… if it’s not the biggest, it’s the favorite. I do not know these actual statistics. The fair is full of amazing food (scones, deep fried things, corn dogs), rides and games (my favorite is the horse race one where you roll the ball into the numbered rings and you try to get your horse to win the race), and every farm animal you could think of.

I love animals. Why do I love animals? Because at the fair they are all clean and pretty and they don’t have poop smeared all over them. I want to touch every cow, and peer – hesitantly – at every chicken in it’s coop, and watch the chicks running around in their incubator, and marvel at the horses on their way to their fancy horse shows. We spent the majority of our time going from animal barn to animal barn, taking photos, and eating food. It was awesome.

Until we got to the pig pen. I heard their were piglets and who doesn’t love baby animals regardless of animal type? No one I say. Especially pigs with their adorable snouts and pudgy little bodies. Squee! Except when we got there the overwhelming buzz was not over the baby piglets, but the mother.

I mean, I don’t know if this picture really does it justice… but those do not look like animal teets, ok? That’s a row of giant boobs if I ever saw one. The photo also doesn’t accurately show the crowd of people because they are all on our side, where the piglets are below us. Being cute and snorty at the fence. And then something happened that I couldn’t believe.

Kamel: Look Lauren, it’s you!

Me: What? No.

Kamel: Yeah, yeah… see? that’s totally you… like when you’re really sleepy.

Me: NO. That is NOT me. (this is where I am frantically aware of how many people are over-hearing this conversation right now)

Kamel: Yeah! See? Like when you want to sleep in and not get out of bed? That’s so you. That’s a Lauren.

Me: Are you fucking kidding me? Please stop. I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.

Kamel: Oh. OH. Well! I mean, I didn’t mean …

Me: Stop. Stop talking.

Kamel: Oh no. I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed now.

And then I scowled at him and we walked away from the giant pig mother and her mammaries. And then we ate a corn dog while Kamel continued to mutter to himself since he had clearly LOST his goddamn mind.

16 thoughts on “Pig Story. Oink.”

  1. Oh my, that’s bad. When Stephen went to Europe for 2 weeks when we first started dating, he didnt shave at all and came back with an epic beard. He opened the door and said Hi! with his arms out for a hug. I just stood there looking at him for a minute and then told him he looked like homeless Jesus. 2 years later, he still brings this up…

    1. ok so here is my confession: one time, in 8th grade, one of the girls in my class got a bad sun burn. One day, to cover up the peeling, she came to school with a lot of liquid concealer all over her face. Have you ever tried to use any concealer over skin that is dry? It just clumps up and makes everything look EVEN worse. In my unfiltered mental glory I blurted out “Brandi! What happened to your FACE? You look like a LEPER!” …..

      Funny ending: The next day she came to school looking totally normal. I asked what happened and she said it all washed off in the shower. EW!

  2. aaaaaahhhahahahahahhaaha oh that’s good. oh man Kamel. incidentally, I have a picture I need to share with you from MY trip to see piggies at a farm. one word: BALLZ

  3. those boobs are epic, for sure.
    i think he might have been talking about the face? how the pig is hiding under the only bit of cover in the pen to drown out the sounds and light and what not?
    anyways, being compared to a pig is never good. isaiah made a similar comparison to a certain really-nasally tv-star once with my laugh. my laugh has never been the same.

  4. omg. i am soooo on the late train today. So THIS is what started the giant pig parts convo?! That is some serious piggy boobage.

    does Kamel have really bad eyesight? maybe?

  5. Those boobs look way too human…. thank f*ck we only have 2 and not 12.

    My husband is Scottish and one time he called me a cow. Apparently in the British Isles being a called a cow is like being called a bitch, and it has nothing to do with your body. Still- I was not impressed.

  6. I am going to only think that Kamel was referring to the blissful look on the pig’s face as it slept. Anything else is just way to yukkie to even consider. Ha. You make me laugh out loud. This is what I really like about your writing. Also, K-man clearly had only a compliment in his thinking, but like most men, we just don’t always say it the way we mean it. Love ya. DB

Leave a Reply