We recently learned there is a farmer's market every Sunday at a historic site in town, called Wheeler Farm.

Now, if you, like I, grew up in Zion, you may have gone on a field trip to Wheeler Farm every six weeks for the entirety of the years 1990 to 1998. On said field trips, a man would pull a large wagon of small children, each getting tetanus and splinters from the rusting metal and rotting wood, around several acres of cows and chickens. He'd end the tour with a lecture about farm management, which would eventually evolve into a recitation of the Ten Commandments and why Bill Clinton was the anti-Christ.

I have not been to Wheeler Farm since Titanic won an Oscar. And so, when Skylar asked me if I thought it would be fun to go to the Sunday market at such location, I told him I genuinely had no idea.

But we are the kind of people who go to farmer's markets, for we are raging homosexuals. What can we say. We love paying $19 for a coffee that takes 45 minutes to make.

And so, we packed up an entire planet's worth of baby gear into the back of our car and set off southward to search for Mr. Hoggett.

Side note: why did not a single one of you losers warn me that having a baby forces you to become a hoarder? We look like the goddamn Grapes of Wrath family every time we go anywhere. Strollers. Car seats. A diaper bag that inexplicitly weighs more than me but is somehow the inverse of a Mary Poppins bag because it never seems to have what we need in it.

We took him to my parents' house recently for a two-hour family dinner and I spent more time packing for that than I did in 2012 when I fully moved to a another country. This child weighs 19 pounds and travels like a Sultan with a three-mile entourage. They shut down entire freeways any time we leave our neighborhood.

Anyway, we arrived at the Wheeler Farm farmer's market to discover that everyone on the planet is now a homosexual who also goes to farmer's markets. Remember when they said legalizing gay marriage would be a slippery slope? They were right. Everyone is gay now. It's time to start gatekeeping this shit.

The parking lot nearly sent me into a nervous breakdown. Whatever was happening in there was not a proper society. The way those cars were parked defied the laws of physics. I felt like I was playing Operation just trying to weave my way through the tight madness, my vehicle sensors loudly screaming at me for being too close to collision on every side simultaneously.

I still genuinely have no idea how I parked. My spirit left my body and Jesus took the wheel. Whatever happened to me in that car is probably the closest I'll ever come to getting baptized.

Once out of the vehicle, we assembled the Transformer that functions as a stroller, packed with enough supplies to get our baby through the winter. By the time we entered the actual market, West was 36 and running for president on a platform of not letting so many people be gay.

We waited in a line that I think may have just been the Hands Across America before purchasing two thimbles worth of coffee for the a cost equivalent to the GDP of a mid-sized country. We spent all the money on this that I was saving up to take all of you on a cruise to Nebraska.

By this point I was experiencing so much sensory overload from encountering the entire human race all at once that we exited the market and just went searching for the horses. They say hi by the way.

Eventually we made our way back to Jigsaw Parking Lot, where a woman begged me to stand behind her car and help direct her out of her parking spot because she was confident otherwise she'd cause a fifty car pile-up. And she wasn't wrong.

Skylar departed to begin the eleventy hour process of getting our child back into his car seat and packing away the stroller while I stood screaming "NOW BACK UP ONE INCH ONLY. NOW TURN YOUR WHEEL AND PULL FORWARD ONE INCH ONLY" over and over again. I swear on an entire bucket of stolen kidneys this took a full TWELVE minutes.

By the time the woman got out of her spot she looked like she was planning to drive straight to a psychiatric hospital.

It took us another twenty-five minutes to get out of the lot, and once we made it to an open road, Skylar and I each took turns taking back everything we had said to and about one another during the whole ordeal.

"So, we're agreed," Skylar said to me as we pulled into our driveway.

"We're never doing that again?" I responded.

"God," Skylar sighed. "I love that we hate the same things."

~It Just Gets Stranger