Since the cowgirl in me will never leave, and since I retired (code for I can wear anything I want), you will never see me in "shoes". Its cowboy boots or barefoot with maybe a few sandals thrown in when it's hot.
THIS night I thought I would throw everyone a curve and wear ..... wait for it ....... HIGH HEELS! With levis, of course, mostly because that's all I have in my closet. I figured everyone would be shocked.
I have to admit, it took me three tries to find a pair that didn't kill my feet instantly. I wobbled a tad on the first few steps. My boots are mostly "high" heels, but they are also two plus inches across. Balancing on a half inch piece of plastic took some doing. It's funny because I wore high heels for probably 30 years at work.
It took four tries to get a picture, a blurry one at that. It seems since I updated my iPhone, the pictures are not as good. Anyway, here you go ..... sans boots.
I feel rather like Imelda Marcos ... remember the pictures of the shoes in her closet? There's been lots of boot scootin' in these over the years.
So I get to the party, walking ever so careful on the new laminate floor, and not one single person realized I wasn't wearing cowboy boots. I click clicked around the room noticing that most people clean up really nice. A couple of them, I didn't even recognize, but come to find out, they are part of the kitchen crew that cooks the burgers and dogs on Tuesday nights.
I sat at the first table with a TREE view, hoping the waitress would take our order first. That would be a NO. Apparently she was a bartender and not a waitress. She started at the very back of the room. I was the last person to place my order. Sadly, I knew exactly what that meant.
Friday night dinners at the lodge are a real event in this small town of no restaurants and nothing to do. It's always crowded with 100-200 dinners served. Mix in an additional 50 bingo volunteers and the wait can be excruciatingly long.
We plied ourselves with soup, salad and drinks. I figured to take the dinner home in a box. Pretty soon, the plates began to arrive as the waitress/bartender balanced ONE at a time in her hand. Finally, one of the ladies went to the kitchen and began to carry plates herself.
As I wandered through the lodge looking for salt and pepper, I saw the kitchen prep area full to the brim with plates of food, all getting cold, in spite of the warmer. Where's all the help???
Be patient people ... it's FREE. Ninety minutes later my cold dinner arrived. I chucked it in a to-go box and headed out the door, along with everyone else at our table. I can't wait to get home today and have that chicken cordon bleu and baked potato. That is if I have any room left in my stomach.
Today is ebelskiver and Scandinavian pancake baking in Columbia. I'm still full from last night's soup and salad. To make my stomach even more uncomfortable, there's a secondary bingo party with all English/Scottish food tonight. That should be interesting. I see a food coma in my near future.
Maybe I should take the bottle of Tums with me.