By the King’s Sword, I am a happy Ren-goer. Everything is amazing, despite the classic Ren Fair Hangover that comes with being a costumed Gypsy, gallivanting about with an Irish accent and a guild of wonderful actors.
This entire last weekend has been one of glory, to be quite honest. I had been to a larger Ren Fair before, but the difference is that I was too nervous to get involved in something that would, without a doubt in the world, become my scene. Honestly, I would want nothing more than to live in a Renaissance Re-enactment for the rest of my natural-born life.
The food was good, the company was better, and I am now considering investing myself in joining the MRAG, which is a wonderful troop of actors who travel from festival to festival. No, really, my life has been changed by this.
After mastering an Irish accent, I proceeded to rake in some cash singing raucous Irish Pub Songs and dancing like a mad woman. I was taught the ways of the Border Morris Dancers, and I was inducted into the gypsy troop. I battled with brave knights, and served ale with the prowess of a twenty year serving wench.
God, life is good. Now, my birthday is coming up, and I have decided that all I want as a gift is a season pass to the Minnesota Renaissance Faire. Pretty please?
It’s quite hard to readjust to a normal life after something like this. You look at your clothing and wonder when such odd contraptions were invented. All of your words have a lilt, and people ask you if you’re an exchange student. You no longer are in the constant presence of shirtless tumblers, beautiful wenches, dancing gypsies, and older wanderers.
You fall asleep dreaming of Irish music, men with Scottish Brogues, sexy pirates, and gorgeous Fawns.
It’s really a sad story that it has to end. A very sad one indeed. So, as I wrap up this blog post, I bid you all to attend your nearby Ren Fair, and experience the joy that I have just felt.
LONG LIVE THE KING, HUZZAH!