Kenny Who?

The other day Tiffany and I rode our bikes out to an art fair across the bridge. Our friends had said it was worth checking out: lots of food, live music and, of course, art. We checked our wheels at the free bike valet and sauntered over to the ticket booth. I squinted at the price list.

"Twenty-five dollars a piece to get in?" I whispered.

"Yikes," Tiffany agreed.

She asked to see the program of a woman standing nearby.

"I'm just here for Kenny Loggins," the woman said. "He plays at 3."

"Oh really?" we both said, "Wow."

"Who's Kenny Loggins?" I whispered to Tiffany when we were out of earshot.

"You know..."

and here she broke into song:

"You gotta know when to hold 'em; know when to fold 'em..."

"That's Kenny Rogers!"

"Ohhhh," she said. "Then I have no idea."

After debating the ticket price and Mr. Loggins' identity for a few minutes, we decided we didn't like art that much, handed the woman her program and walked back down the shore a bit to a paddleboarding place.

For ten bucks a piece, we each got a board. As soon as we were standing and stable, we made our way across the water to the cove right behind the festival and listened to some of the music for free.