A little slice of heaven ambles up to sit for a while Saturday afternoon. A picture more resemblant of the South on game day would be hard to find given all the gents in ties, jackets and good shoes. Pair that with yummy men on
horseback and the afternoon is quite spectacular. And we’re in my beloved Scottsdale.
The Divine Miss S calls to say she has tickets to polo. Would I like to join? My morning was spent at another event, not at all to my liking. Loud, noisy, questionable dress. Attendees were having a marvelous time. I was the fish who leapt from her bowl. My cup of tea it was not. Not that a cup of tea could have been found anywhere.
Polo sounds like just the ticket. Oldest Chicken and I have a standing Saturday date for college ball. Bama’s not playing ’til late afternoon; squirreling away for a bit will work. After the spectacular beat down dealt A & M last week, my butt will be in its assigned seat to see what’s next. The boys do not disappoint. Roll Tide.
The Divine Miss S and I arrive at this fairly new Scottsdale spectacle, awed. An overlarge Ketel One sign points the way. Things are looking up. Style is impressive, excepting of course the chicks who boast too short, too tight and too low. But for the most part, everyone looks Sunday best and freshly scrubbed. I find myself giddy with excitement.
There was last night, where everyone classed it up at movie under the stars and then this afternoon we are surrounded by men in jackets and athletes sporting white tailored jodhpurs that showoff their assets. Is the world righting itself? Did you know, fashionista dears, that Brooks Brothers developed the button-down collar specifically for the polo boys? Seems they had a problem with collar tabs flapping in their faces. Well done, Brooks Brothers. Well done.
We’ve missed the throw-in, basically the face-off, to start the game but are entertained by burly ponies running hither and yon. They’re called ponies regardless of size and girth. The match makes little sense as ponies suddenly change course and move about willy nilly whenever anyone scores. The game takes some practice even to watch.
We visit the art tent, take in a stunning collection and watch a few pieces go for upwards of twenty thousand dollars. Divine Miss S cautions as I point over the auctioneer to a quite spectacular pony. She reminds it’s probably not wise to have arms flailing akimbo whilst seated at auction. Good thing she’s along. I may have purchased God knows what.
We join in the social highlight we all remember from Pretty Woman. Btw–her polka dot dress? Imitated. A lot. We divot stomp with the best of them. Well, actually, not too many divots so we basically wander about the field, drinks in hand, take a couple photos with a show Arabian and chat about dating. Miss S is ahead of me on that curve. She warns of scoundrels, bad boys and some others that are just plain fun.
As it’s still pretty hot on the surface of the sun, we decide we’ve had enough. But wait, on our way out, we flit about the newest dreamy offering from Bentley. I discover Divine Miss S is a car girl as well. I knew there was something about this chick I liked. We turn the corner and are stopped once more, this time for the World Food Championships where two long time local chefs battle it out over meat loaf.
With bacon. Day made.
The Duchess Diaries 