My cell phone rings again. It is futile to ignore it; Valerie is persistent. When she wants something, she will continue to hara
ss me until I give in.
"Hello," I answer.
"State Fair, Bobbie?" she asks in her singsong voice. "When are we heading out? Only two more days left!"
I abhor the State Fair. The boisterous crowds, the insanely long lines, and the impossibility of finding a clean restroom all combine to make this an event that I utterly detest.
For Valerie, my best friend since middle school, the State Fair is a sign that divine powers really do exist.
"Really, Bobbie, where else can you pet a cow, ride a horse, fall ten stories, see the world’s smallest person and eat fried macaroni and cheese?" Valerie asks gleefully.
"Hades?" I guess.
The fried food at the State Fair is a gastronomical nightmare on its own. I once tried a fried pickle at the fair and was sick to my stomach for hours. And a fried donut hamburger with bacon, cheese, AND a greasy egg? How could that not be deleterious? Consuming a single serving of fair food has the potential to take years off your life. And I think about this. But then my better nature takes hold, and an image of Valerie's face on the other end of the line comes into view. I haven't seen her for a good month; our schedules are both so hectic. By and by, my hatred of the State Fair becomes inconsequential compared to my desire to spend time with Val. Besides, I don't have to eat the disgusting fair food. I can simply admire it from a safe distance.
Alas, I ignore my anti-fair bias for the umpteenth year. "Pick me up at noon," I say and hang up the phone.
According to the passage, Bobbie finally agrees to go to the fair because
A. Valerie convinces her using a tempting description
B. Valerie coerces her using peer pressure
C. she recognizes that she does not have to eat fair food
D. she wants to spend time with Valerie
