Well, it’s that time of the week again.
The time where I bang my head against stationary objects until I think of something remotely entertaining to write. Sometimes I even bang it on stationery objects, like a pen.
That is just the first phase of the process for a writer like myself. Eventually I move on to sitting down at a keyboard and typing, crying optional.
It’s not that I lack subject matter – my life is usually highly entertaining, just not reportable to the masses.
Still, I am surrounded by the most amazing women – every one of them – and I have stories for days, maybe years. With that in mind, I gave the stationary objects a break.
I have a group of friends I travel with every year, and we just returned from our 16th annual weekend away.
We call ourselves the B.O.B. Club, pay dues every month and use that money to fund the weekend trips.
In the past 16 years we’ve travelled through Texas and Oklahoma. We have seen and done things that prove real life is, indeed, stranger than fiction.
One of those trip was to the Fort Worth Stockyards a few years ago. We stayed at a hotel in the the middle of the stockyards, all five of us in one room.
For some reason, there was no hot water that morning for showers, which was noted by a shrill scream of the first one in and followed by four more.
We left the hotel around noon, looking like we hadn’t seen daylight since 1642.
After lunch, we parked ourselves on a large picnic bench in front of the famous White Elephant Saloon armed with a Michael Jackson t-shirt we bought on a clearance rack for $2 and a fresh Sharpie. We then proceeded to ask strangers to sign the shirt as their favorite celebrity with plans to give it to somebody really gullible or list it on Ebay next to the Virgin Mary cheese toast.
One of our celebrities
B.O.B. Lynda pets the dog of another celebrity
We had more takers than anyone could believe, and thought we were going to get Wyatt Earp for sure when a cowboy rode up on his horse and dismounted in front of our picnic bench.
Shawnee, the clairvoyant of our group, said, “I hope he doesn’t ask me to babysit his horse.”
So, he did.
A reasonable facsimile of the horse we cared for
We babysat a horse in the Fort Worth Stockyards while his chaps and spurs wearing owner went into the White Elephant Saloon for a cold one. I guess we technically horsesat.
While Shawnee charged a fee for people to pet the strange horse, the rest of us continued asking strangers to sign the t-shirt that was eventually lost anyway.
Things like this are why we keep doing it year after year.
These memories, and so many more, are the tapestry my highly entertaining life is made of.
B.O.B.s Shawnee and Janice during one of our more serious discussions