Friday, July 27, 2012

Leaving Las Vegas (when all you want is to get there.)

An already-planned trip to Vegas with childhood girlfriends was looming, but I had to tell them that I had to sit this one out.
We were ecstatic about our recent move to Texas to be closer to family. We found a lovely home right away, but it hailed from the seventies and the kitchen screamed ABBA. We decided that it needed a nudge into the current decade. In this case however, the nudge meant gutting out the whole damn thing and knocking down a wall. No kitchen for two, almost three months, Vegas trip. So here I was the weekend of said trip and my girlfriends' hootin' and hollerin' on the other end of the line made me resent the seventies just a little bit. Ironic, since that's when I was born. I fought the strong urge to have a bottle of wine with me, myself and I, and decided I will not sit at home. I will be out there. I will show up. I will four-year- old and I.
So instead of looking so glum on a Friday, I heard about the chicken joint that had an unofficial holiday for bovine appreciation day. Free eats if you dress up like a cow. (Mooing doesn't get you anything but funny looks.) That's it! That's where Shorty and I were going to paint the town red, or black and white, actually. I grabbed two shirts, one white, one black. I cut up the black one into random kidney shapes and contemplated sewing them on to the white one, until I decided glue does wonders. An oval of pink fabric on the chest then, Shorty pulled out two small, pink pompoms.
"For nickels, Mom," she offered.
"You need two more. I think you mean udders," I said (now you know what she meant.)
Those were glued on just like everything else. More glue for small black fabric onto a pair of barettes for ears, and we were ready. No, I did not don a costume for free lunch. Since I received photo updates of the girls all dolled up without kids glued to their legs, the last thing I wanted to do was to feel and look like a cow. I've never felt so domesticated in all my life.
We hit the restaurant and when we walked in, Shorty got so many compliments (from other cows) on her costume that made this mama cow feel proud. She had fun. I had fun, not Vegas fun, but the promise of a shiny, new kitchen was well worth it. I think cocktail glasses, filled to the brim, should be the first to go on those countertops. Make mine a Margarita.