Wednesday is the Great Minnesota Get Together. I am so excited I can hardly sleep.

That?s right, on Wednesday the Chromey clan head?s to the fair. Just typing out the words makes me wiggle in my chair. Most people not from around here are always amazed by what a big deal the fair is to the people from around here.

It?s the first question on everyone?s lips, ?you going to the fair?? ?You been to the fair??

Minnesotans love the fair.

I am quite fond of saying that any place where it?s socially acceptable to eat a corndog and drink a beer at 9 a.m. is a place I need to be.

We go to the fair every year, my entire family. It?s a tradition and we don?t muck with tradition.

Every year I call to find out what time we are meeting at casa de la parentals. Every year they tell me it?s at some ungodly hour before the sun comes up, like 6 a.m. ?We want to get good parking.?

Every year I whine about how clear it is that they hate me and that I took the day off to get up earlier than I would if I were actually going to work.

Yes, we do this every year, without fail.

Every year we spend an inordinate amount of time just resting, counting fanny packs and mullets. This year I was supposed to make T-shirts that say, ?Friends don?t let friends wear fanny packs,? and various other anti-fanny pack slogans. But I ran out of time, the fair came too quickly this year.

Every year we arrive and attack the fair with giddy jubilation. We race from the Mexican Bizarre, to the Grand Stand, over to Heritage Square and then over to the Education Building.

Since the kidlings have grown to the point where they get a say in what we see, we hit all the animal barns. Looking at horses, chickens, cows and pigs.

When the brothers-in-law start itching to head up to Machinery Hill to look at tractors, that?s when I head over to the Leinie Lodge and plant my ass for a good hour. That?s usually the best part of the day. I hide out and just people watch?wishing I had remembered to bring a notebook so I could take notes.

Every year around 3 p.m. we start to bicker. Sister #2 wants to go the Grand Stand again. Sister #3 wants to go back to Heritage Square and buy that cool thing she didn?t want to lug around all day. Sister #4 will simply die if she doesn?t buy a bucket of Sweet Martha?s cookies. I will die if I don?t get corndog #562.

Usually around 4 we call it a day. It?s too hot, the after work crowd is going to arrive soon; we?re dirty, smelly and tired.

Every year we journey back, talking about how great it was, forgetting the petty bickering that lead to our exodus. Every year we?ve got bags full of State Fair junk that we will never even look at, only to toss out before the next Fair season.

Every year I fall asleep at roughly 7:30 p.m., tired, sore, sorta sick to my stomach (562 corndogs can do that to you) and just so damn happy I can?t even see straight.

I can?t wait until Wednesday!