For the last few days, as the Spawn and I have traveled to and from Mondoville High, we’ve noticed the marquee at the Burger King, which sits across from the school. All week, it has informed us that the “Festival of Burgers” is coming, as if we were in the midst of a ground-beef Advent of some sort. But today, we were informed that the Festival of Burgers is finally at hand.
The Spawn and I have found this quite gratifying, as we have regaled one another with tales of previous Festivals of Burgers (or as they are called in some parts of the world, carne-val), where we would fill our stockings with mayonnaise and hang our sesame-seed wreaths at the door. There are few moments as sweet as a stolen kiss beneath a foil ketchup packet in a doorway. The laughter of children counting their pickles is like music in my soul.
But let us always remember — the Festival of Burgers is not merely a time of celebration. Today we remembered the shuddersome tales of the Festival of Burgers Witch, who abducts wicked children and forces them to subsist on a vegan diet. But we must not dwell on such matters.
And so in closing, may the Festival of Burgers be kept alive in your heart every day.
Or at least in your arteries.