"These are men's hats, the women's are over there," said the clerk in 'Lamle's Western Wear and Tack' yesterday. "I have a lot of testosterone, so don't worry about it, I belong here," I replied, to the amusement of a very handsome 50-ish gentleman near me. The clerk walked away and the gentleman and I bonded over cowboy hats for Stampede.
"I used to have a gorgeous green felt cowboy hat, but when I had to move away for two years and rent my house, I never found it?" he lamented. "Someone poofed it," I explained, using a unique phrase an old friend had coined years ago, when talking about things his friends had stolen. "Never seen(sic) a green one again," he added. And he won't. Must be something about $$$$$$$.
I bought a fabulous, black, men's cowboy hat, which suits me because broad and stylish, it works. The women's hats I tried on were straw, tiny, cheap and cheesy. Men's Stampede anyone? You got it. Only men's cowboy hats are serious. Naturally, I bought one.
So off we went to the first Stampede BBQ at The Ranchmen's Club today. It was fabulous -- groaning with prairie oysters (read, bull testicles), beef-beef-beef-and-more-beef, chicken, pasta, sausages, thousands of salads..........you name it, it was there in abundance. Thinking of the laps I would have had to endure had I actually sampled everything, I consumed practically nothing. Hope I am not starting to be OCD about my weight again, but today I accidentally did 10 extra laps 'cause I was talking, visiting and completely lost count! Oh well, good to go into Stampede with a few more under my belt.
"What the hell is the problem?" I asked myself, as I returned from the Y at 7:30 after my swim. Had to come to a complete stop on our private road because an outgoing car had pulled over on the wrong side, driver's door flung open; two others were waiting to pass. What did I see? A young, squating woman vomiting miserably.
Yes folks, welcome to the seamier side of Stampede.
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