If you’ve ever been to the races, you’ll know it can be a fun day. If you’ve ever been to the races in a corporate room/tent, you’ll know it’s a REALLY fun day!
We found ourselves at a great table facing the race course.. Hubby innocently asked if I would rather sit on the opposite side of the table where I could see the stage where the fashion parade was going to be…. HA! No thankyou… give me my view of the track… Watching malnourished 14 year olds prancing up and down a makeshift catwalk wearing an amount of fabric that I could equate to a “boob tube” is not really my cup of tea. Of course the little boys they had “modelling” the men’s suits were quite pretty… but still not enough to make me refrain from abusing the bod in charge of the television screens when he replaced the current race (in which I had money invested) with endless vision of the clothing parade, which I could just have easily watched if I could have been bothered turning around…..
I was quickly churning through my allowance for the day, when I finally hit a few places.. and then, thanks to my darling hubby, I placed a bet on a second horse in the Melbourne Cup… I had already made my own choice, but he seemed so confident… in fact, several people at the table took his tip, and of course the rest is history… his tip won! Lucky for me… the other horse I tipped… came in second!! So I doubled my original money, in one race… Oh happy day!!
And of course my other source of amusement for the day was the over the top fashions on the women at the race. Now me, being the boy that I am, wore a simple top and pants… no biggie there… makeup, couple of bracelets and that’s it.. the hair was as it always is… on my head. There was some conjecture as to whether I would wear a “fascinator”… or “vominators” as I affectionately prefer to call those pathetic bits of fluff and feathers that women seem intent on pinning to their heads… seriously… I would rather have plonked a HTFU baseball cap on my head than be seen dead in half a dead bird arranged coquettishly upon my head. Please note: I use the term coquettishly very, very loosely… I’m hardly what you would call coquettish… blokey.. yes… boyish.. yes … a bit of a ladette.. yes…. and that’s the way I am. ( HTFU translates to Harden The Fuck Up, in case you were wondering.)
Oh… and FYI…. burnt orange…. is the new tan…. apparently!! Oh the shades of orange I was treated to… was as wide and vast as a double rainbow. Probably the most memorable was the “hooker” for want of any other description, in her red dress (if you can call two strips of red ribbon crossed over a pair of enormously enhanced breasts and a third ribbon strained around her buttocks, a dress…..) combined with her precariously high hookerheels, her Farrah hair, and of course…. her “tan”.. Now I’m no colour expert.. but I’m pretty sure that whilst blue and green should never be seen, wearing orange and red? I’d rather be dead. Seriously love, your tan was competing in hue with your ribbons.. errr… dress.
And once again, the fight in the women’s toilet was not actually to use the toilet… it was to get within cooee of a hand basin or mirror afterwards…. seriously… I had no idea how much miniature makeup once can jam into a 3 x 4 inch “bag”!! And really… I slapped on my face in the morning (having first found it in the jar that I keep by the door) and that was it for the rest of the day… I swear I saw the same girl retrowelling her face 4 times during the course of the afternoon… YES I have a nanna bladder.. OK?
Anyhoo…. You would be amazed at how unpopular one becomes when trying to wash ones hand after ones ablutions…. I practically had to hip and shoulder one “girl” (and I’m still not convinced about that!) out of the way so I could use the sink.. after handing her a lipstick and a pot of moussey stuff and her brush, which she had kindly deposited in the sink whilst readjusting the piece of pink curtain fabric across her shoulders…. popular much?
And so was my day at the races…. Well fed (the food was amazing!!!), well lubricated (thanks to hubby being flush enough to buy my G&T’s – seeing as spirits are never available at catered functions) and my pockets well lined by the end of the day, not to mention my imagination.