We all get hungry, even on the moon.

There I was again, shoving a scone in my face, a piroshky melting in my mouth, wondering if I'd washed my hands after petting those goats.  All while gazing longingly at the elephant ears strolling past carried by eager hands who at that point would probably do anything their owner's mouths asked, including reaching into their wallets to purchase more fat and sugar-filled delectable morsels of fair food.

Ah, the Fair - late summer days, warm summer nights, more good food than you can shake a krusty pup stick at - but wait, this wasn't summer, it was spring, it was almost 80, and there were more people walking around in Puyallup with smiles on their faces than there were after it was announced that the Beach Boys were no longer touring the fair circuit.

As I munched the last of my piroshki the light beaming from behind these floating bubbles caught my attention and I felt like I was on another planet.  That is until another waft of cinnamon and sugar filled the air and I was off in search of the source, the thought of goats long gone from my mind.  But maybe I'll wash my hands just to be safe.