Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Don't Be That Girl

Spring Meet  is mere hours away, ladies. Right on cue, as soon as the first race starts (five minutes earlier this year!), That Girl will show up.  And she won't go away.

You know the one.  She's in college, or in her early twenties. She's wearing the newest, fanciest dress from Ann Taylor Loft or White House Black Market. She's all spaghetti straps and sandals, weather report be damned.  She's had one too many at the Sports Bar. And she thinks she's adorable.

I always want to grab That Girl. Depending on my mood (and whether I'm winning), I either want to hug her or shake some sense into her.  Either way, I want to give her some sisterly advice.  Hopefully this blog can serve as a public forum to provide that advice to potential That Girls all over the Bluegrass. Here goes:

  • The first week of April in Kentucky is cold.  It's generally during redbud winter.  Cover yourself with a nice cardigan. That new sundress will be totally appropriate by Stakes.
  • If it's raining, cold or both, your sandals look silly.
  • I don't care what Stacy London says, don't wear white before Easter. It's preferable to hold off until after Derby, but Easter is the absolute earliest.
  • Don't order that last drink.  You've had more than you think, and it's a long walk back to the car.
The track is a lovely place to spend the day, ladies. It isn't a frat party.  Don't be That Girl.
h

2 comments:

  1. You hit the nail on the head, H.

    Can I add that sling backs are cute on your feet, not slung over your shoulder on the aforementioned long walk back to the car.

    Also? If you're so grossed out/drunk that you can't sit properly on the toilet, please wipe all of your tinkles off the seat.

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  2. I. Hate. That. Girl. She is always obnoxious (too much "woo"-ing with her girls), wears WAY too much eyeliner, needed her roots done three weeks ago, and usually thinks it appropriate to apply body shimmer (to complement her crispy-fried-from-the-evil-assed-tanning-bed COMPLETELY BARE shoulders, natch.) Shimmer. To Keeneland. Just the thought makes me flare my nostrils in heated disgust.

    When I was younger (in my twenties), I too felt the need to pull her aside for a bit of sisterly advice. Now that I'm all old and crotchety? Screw her. She should know better. Where is her Big Sis? The older friend? All have abandoned her. And I'm finished caring about her. But I will take time out of my busy Keeneland day to glare, sneer, point, and make pithy, snarky-as-hell comments.

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