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What people in small towns do in the summertime.
Sasha Blaze
sedens
That would be "enter things in the county fair," of course. My department's crew of enthusiastic photographers made a combined assault on the photo categories; we didn't win any ribbons (the local camera club has a lock on the awards), but we're certainly proud of ourselves.

I'm deeply amused and gratified that one of my entries was put in the wrong category. I filled out the entry tag correctly--double-checked it and everything--but the person taking the entries didn't read the tag . . . and Tom o' Bedlam here wound up in the "portrait" section.



The judge noticed the wrist joint and put Tom where he belonged, in "manmade objects." (Now, of course, I would love to know what might have happened if the judge hadn't noticed.)

I entered this one in the "botanical" section:



And in the knitting division, where I entered a fashion-doll Fair Isle cardigan and a big fuzzy multicolored throw, I brought home two blue ribbons and the sweepstakes premium for best use of color and design (second time in three years, whee!). I plan to take my $16 winnings and, erm . . . have as much of a celebration as $16 will buy.

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I think so, too! I'm still giggling about it, though . . . after all my care in filling out the entry tag with the correct category . . .

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