Fuzzy Wuzzy was a What?

Things are starting to get a little fuzzy as the frenzy of Mardi Gras activity (and too many libations) has got my brain 'a spinnin'! Bullet points always help. We'll start with Thursday and Friday.

(I seriously just sat here in front of my computer with my hand on my chin, looking up and to the left, eyes squinted in an effort to untangle the details.)

-The Stripers parade, Thursday night. Olga is diggin' Mobile Mardi Gras!

Olga says she can't get enough of the gang. "And we can't get enough of you either, Olga!"

-Impromptu trip across the Bay to make a deposit into the Bank of Karma.

AB says, "Thanks for giving me a ride home." JE gleefully responds, "Don't mention it. That's what friends are for!" ****HUGS!****

-Dorito buffet and a bottle of Thunderbird ("What's the Word?!!)

There's never enough cheese.

-Friday morning's first thought: Is it Old South weekend?

-Early morning thought: Only 9 hours 'til nap time. There's no way I am doing anything tonight.

-Mid morning thought: If questioned why I have my eyes closed while sitting upright at my desk, I'm going to tell them I'm praying.

-Early afternoon: Received text message regarding the availability of Krewe of Columbus ball tickets. I sat up in my chair.

-Moments later...came to my senses after I envisioned the feeling of being in high heels for at least 3 hours straight. Made mental note that I was a grown woman and college was the last time I had succumbed to AEs signature "One more. For me?" guilt trip.

-Mid afternoon: Began to secretly hope AE would call and coerce me into going to the parade. I would play hard to get by demanding that we go home immediately following the parade.

-Received phone call from AE as predicted. It was decided we'd be troopers -- for GB. He was back in town afterall, ready to partake in the Mardi Gras festivities. Closed the conversation smuggly with pre-planned hard-to-get ploy. GB didn't like to stay out late anyway so he would be my safety net if I couldn't deny the powers of the "Do it for me" bit.

-Decided the day at work was lost. I granted myself a personal day and started humming the Mardi Gras theme song.

-Noticed how spry I felt after drinking that first beer. Discussed the buyer's remorse we'd be sure to have if we bought the $5.00 throw bag with the tagline "Mardi Gras is Mo Betta in Mo-Bile". Decided the slogan could be noted elsewhere for free. (Ta-da!)

-Had the pleasure of meeting up with GB's brother whom I would soon come to know as the means by which I would meet the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus all in one night.

(less detailed bullet points = things start getting fuzzy)

-Niles and Frasier...is that you?

-Captain Morgan and the Morganettes set the mood for the rest of the evening.

Olga: "Easy pirate, I am delicate. Handle with Care."

GB as Captain Morgan. "Aaaargh! Surrender the Booty!"

Me and GB with Captain Morgan. I'm the one on G's left.

-Happy Birthday. "Patron, please." (But the Bacardi's on special...?)

-The Show's starting in 15 minutes and we've got front row seats!

-I didn't know AE knew how to break dance. With a bra no less!

"You got this, AE!"

Shake yo' money maker!

"Hang on Olga, it's a dance off!"

-Noted that one way to divert a full blown riot is to declare a dance-off as a tie! AE was almost a little too late in announcing "Good night ladies and gentlemen. I'm going home," George Costanza style.

-Made a run for the border where we enjoyed recapping the wonders of the night-not-planned over the frenzied crunches of Nachos Bell Grande. (That's spanish for, "Thank God, I don't have to work tomorrow.)

"By Golly...It Worked!"

*Warning: Neophyte blogger just learned how to use the "link" feature.*

I couldn't believe it. All it took was a little Lebanese rain dance to do the trick. The rain that I thought for certain had set in, dissipated, making way for the perfect day I described in my last post. Sunshine and blue skies, just in time! After arriving downtown early enough to get premier parking, we made our way to one of our favorite watering holes: Veet's. No, they don't serve mint juleps, but you can be rest assured that if you get the hankering for a cold beer and good company, there's always someone at Veet's with the same agenda. Not to mention the fact that this bar is located directly on the parade route adjacent to the spot where all the local highschool marching bands stop to put on their show. It's the creme de la creme of parade viewing.

Being the opportunists that they are, the folks at Veet's have learned that setting up a bar to serve the thirsty revelers of Mobile might not be a bad idea either--especially since they are in the business of making money selling beer. Something tells me they aren't just trying to make beer drinking convenient for those of us that don't want to babysit an icechest. Talk about captive audience!

Olga announces, "Get your cold beer over here!"

Unless of course that hand is being used to escort a special bra by the name of Olga. It was determined early on that we would have to make an appearance at certain places in town and Veet's was on the list. I wish I could say we planned that this day would also be the day that we were watching a parade that featured the likeness of some of our favorite local bars, but planned it was not. Imagine watching a parade in front of a bar where one of the floats is made to resemble that very bar. It's one of those rare happenings of which you have to make note. Also not planned was that Olga would have her picture taken with Veet himself! I know what you're thinking: Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't Veet be considered the lucky one to have his picture taken with Olga? Talk amongst yourselves about that one, but for what its worth, Veet is a local celebrity, kinda like John Edd Thompson! Meanwhile, take a look at the folks that have been there before her. OMG, how cool would it be if Olga were featured on their website in the ranks of the other celebrities that had partied there before her? I'm just sayin'...hint, hint.

THE Veet and his smokin' hot daughter, Gina.

So the Traveling Celebrity has had her picture taken with the Local Celebrity, we've found a perfect spot along the parade route with easy access to the Veet's Public Service known as The Bar, it's time to get this parade started! Here they come...The Mobile Mystics! It was an awesome parade for an awesome day. Check out their website. www.mobilemystics.com

Olga had the best view in the house.

I held Olga high in the air so she could get a full view of the parade. As if its not enough to stand in a crowd of people that know and love Mardi Gras in Mobile to be a family event, with a (might I say, rather large) black, lacy bra, I got tickled when the maskers on the float would nudge eachother after seeing us both standing there watching the parade. The looks on their faces read something like, "If she's holding that bra in her hands, over her head, then there ain't nothing between us and that girl but a cotton t-shirt!" Sorry guys, I ain't that kinda girl.

But this girl might be. After the parade, Olga was invited to jam with The Family Jewels (The Veet's band).

I wonder what SHE had to do to get invited on stage. Hmmmm...talk amongst yourselves about that one, too!

*Special thanks to Gregory Brown, resident photographer. I bet you can tell which of the above pics belong to him! He's super talented. http://www.flickr.com/photos/gregorybrown

It's Raining on Our Parade!

As you know, Olga joined the girls for lunch at Wintzell’s earlier this week. It was a positively, beautiful day. Baby blue skies, light breeze, 74 degrees…and it’s February! You gotta love Mobile! It was the kind of day you wish you could wrap up and store away for when you really needed it. Like a girl’s wedding day, or a family reunion, or a child’s birthday party. Or like today, when you have plans to take a particular Traveling Bra to her first Mardi Gras parade!

I woke up this morning and it was pouring. Not a problem I thought, we get heavy downpours like this all the time here. It could very well stop in the next five minutes. So I pulled up the local radar and to my dismay, it looked like a Christmas tree – green and yellow and orange signifying heavy rain and lots of it. AE and I debated the type of rain we were dealing with.

“It’s not just the regular line of storms that moves from west to east and then passes within a few hours.”
“You mean, it’s Train Rain?” AE asked.
Not knowing what the heck she was talking about, I asked, “What’s Train Rain?”
“That’s what the weatherman from the Coast* Mike Reider referred to as the type of rain that just keeps coming, and coming.
“I guess that applies here. All I know is that this rain is coming out of the Gulf and we all know that’s different than the rain that moves from west to east.”

I’ll stop so as not to portray myself as a bigger geek than I already am. When you live in the second rainiest city in the country, you kinda know the different types of rain. Little bitty stingin' rain, Big 'Ol Fat Rain, rain that comes in sideways....(Forrest Gump, get it?)

So, AE and I did what anyone does when they aren’t getting what they want. We threw a temper tantrum. We stomped and groveled, begged and pleaded: “Please, please, please let the rain stop. Don’t let it rain on our parades!”


When AE referred to The Coast, she was referring to the Mississippi Gulf Coast where she grew up. I thought it humorous when I was in college that people from north Mississippi, or rather, The Delta, would refer to people from South Mississippi, The Coast, as ‘Coast Trash’. Not very nice, I know, but I do love to hear people from The Delta talk…so melodic and sweet it’ll make your teeth hurt.

"You've GOT to be Kiddin' Me?!"

A funny phenomenon occurs during Mardi Gras, and that’s a case of the “Damn-Its”. Damn it, I don’t want to have to go to work today (because I went to another Ball last night and I am still sleep deprived from the first one). Damn it, I have to sit down to pay some bills (but I’d rather pretend I have plenty of money to pay for the beer I want to buy to accompany me to the next parade). Damn it, there’s still boa feathers floating around the house from this past weekend (but I don’t want to sweep them up because every time I see them I pause for a moment to reflect on the good time we had at the Osiris Ball).

So I was home one afternoon entertaining my “Damn-Its” and I heard someone coming up the steps of the front porch. I wasn’t expecting anyone so I immediately put on my “I don’t want to buy whatever it is your selling” face.

“Can I help you?”
“Hi, I am Olga. Sorry I am late.”
“Excuse me?” I said in disbelief.
“I’m Olga. Olga the Traveling Bra. I know you were expecting to see me Friday, but, well, life happened, and I wasn’t able to make it. Did you guys have a good time at the Osiris Ball? I really hate I missed it.”

I was really glad she said her name twice because like I said earlier, the window of opportunity to get a name right upon introduction is small. I immediately had flashbacks to the night of the Ball. It was all about to make a lot of sense. I thought about how when anyone referred to that nasty bra as 'Olga' she would get pissed. Turns out, we thought the Traveling Bra that was with us was the Traveling Bra we were expecting originally when in fact, she was really an... imposter?? No way! We were duped!

“Olga, I am sorry that I seemed shocked to see you here, but everything is coming together now. You seem super pleasant and excited to be here. It’s just that, well, I am not sure how to say this…Does the name ‘Ulga’ ring a bell with you?”

“She didn’t take my place at the ball, did she?” Olga said as if she already knew the answer to the question.
“Well…we thought. I mean, we assumed. How many Traveling Bras are there in this world??”
“Just one, darlin’. Just one. But to answer you’re question: Yes, I am familiar with Ulga. Actually, it’s her half sister Helga of which I am more familiar. The two of us have quite a bit of history together. Helga is a Wandering Corset and me being a Traveling Bra, Ulga always felt left out. She has spent the better part of her life wreaking havoc on all that is good making constant declarations of “She ain’t all that.”

“She DID say that a time or two! I didn’t have a clue as to what she was talking about,” I admitted. “I was trying to keep my conversation with that trashy bra to a minimum so I didn’t even ask.”
“Girl I don’t blame you. Is she still smoking Camels?” Olga asked.
“Yes. Unfiltered at that!”
“That’s funny. I remember when she used to cut the filters off with a pair of scissors. Some things never change.”
“Geez, Olga. We made you your own Mardi Gras float and everything! I hate to think that a cheap broad like Ulga stole the spotlight from you.”
Olga slapped me on the leg and said, “Honey don’t you worry about that. I am in the spotlight all the time. I just hate that you guys had to tolerate her. She has always been quite the nemesis.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Ulga anytime soon. Last time we saw her, she was floating down the Mobile River. I hate to say it, but all we could say was ‘Good Riddance’”.

Olga and I sat on the porch in silence for a bit, contemplating the fate of Ulga the Nasty Bra. I was at a loss. Olga made plans to come to Mobile for the Osiris Ball, and now that it had passed, I wasn’t quite sure what to offer. Being the polite southern lady that I am, I knew I needed to do my best to show my REAL guest a good time. But this wasn’t just any guest. This was Olga the Traveling Bra! A bra that has seen the world! I’d hate it if she thought me and my fair city paled in comparison to the people she’d met and the places she’d been so I told myself, “Put your big girl panties on handle it! Oh, I got this!”

I stood up proudly from my chair and said, "Olga, Welcome to Mobile, Alabama! I know you missed The Ball, but you made it to town right as Mardi Gras is about to get into full swing. So Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez!"

I didn’t bother translating. Olga knows what that means.

*******************************
Before we get into full Mardi Gras mode, I want to ease Olga into the environment. South Alabama can prove to be quite the culture shock if you aren’t from around these parts. Strangers on the street commenting, “It sure is a gorgeous day, ain’t it?” Waitresses at restaurants putting ice (and sugar) in your tea without asking, and gentlemen holding the door for you at the local Circle K, might seem like odd interactions, but here, we just call it home.

So I am enlisting the help of my friend and co-chaperone, AE to help ensure Olga’s trip to Mobile will be one she won't soon forget!

First stop, Wintzell's Oyster House, a tradition in Mobile since 1938. Its one of the places you take people when they're visiting from out of town. I think this restaurant is home to a few world record holders for the most raw oysters eaten. Then again, I could be making it up to add to the effect of the story. I do know some kind of records have been placed for eating a lot of oysters in one sitting. Now I like my oysters raw but there's nothing more disgusting than any type of food eating contest , and a raw oyster eating contest takes them all! But to each his own. We all need our own claim to fame.

Olga, checking out the Catch of the Day. Does that say, Snapper?!

After lunch, homage was paid to the biggest set of Ta-Ta's in Mobile at the Scottish Rite Temple. It's the only Egyptian Revival building in the city where two large stone sphinxes are fondled every weekend by drunken frat boys leaving Dauphin Street after a night of partying.

The Conclusion

By the time 6:00 p.m. rolled around, the festivities were in full swing. The champagne was flowing and the only thing that stood between us and The Osiris Ball was a means by which to get there. We ordered the cab for 7:30p.m. in anticipation of it picking us up at a quarter 'til. (You were right, AE. Good call.)


It should come as no suprise that by this time, Olga, er, ummm, I mean Ulga had passed out. I'd like to think it was the after-effect of the good talkin' to I gave her, but it was probably the Wild Turkey and Tequila shooters. That was fine by us, because prior to passing out, she had started taking jabs below the belt. You know, talkin' 'bout how our mama's were on crack rock and our daddy's were sissies.

AE pulled me aside and said, "Dang J. Had we known this Traveling Bra was so crass and classless, we would have never invited her to Mobile."



"I know, but she's here now and we aren't going to let her spoil our good time. We've been looking forward to tonight for quite a while, so let's try to enjoy ourselves."

It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, but AE knew I was right.

"We need to start getting ready. The cab will be here before we know it."

There's nothing worse than having to press the pause button on a good time in order to take a shower to get dressed to go out, as AD commented earlier in the afternoon. And she is right. But the notion of not focusing all of our efforts on ensuring we were perfectly coifed was out of the question. Remember my post from earlier, this is THE Osiris Ball. Toenails and lips had to be painted, Spanx had to be stuffed, and bronzer had to be applied to the pasty Lebanese girl, right AB?

It's all part of the fun. We played everyone's favorite game - How-many-women-can-you-get-into-a-tiny-bathroom. We shared make-up tips. And we sarcastically gave pity to the bloated size 0 (not "oh", but ZERO). I have to pose the question: Why not go ahead and call it a size 1?

Just as AE predicted, the cab was late, but that allowed us plenty of time to rouse Ulga awake and help her into her float. If you've ever been tasked with carrying a drunk person, then you might have an idea of what we were dealing with. Actually, no. She's a bra so its not the same. Let's try this again. If you've ever been tasked with tolerating a drunk person, just know that dealing with a drunk bra is even more of a challenge. Especially this bra. She was so pissed off at everything, I don't think a positive thing ever came out of her mouth. She kept slurring, "She ain't all that." Finally I leaned over to BF and asked, "Do people even say that anymore?" BF shrugged her shoulders.

We got to The Ball with just a little time to spare. It actually worked out well, because I think of all nights, the term "Fashionably Late" was applicable. It's amazing how much attention celebrities get. I mean, I don't know about you, but I am star struck to see the local news reporter at the grocery store, so imagine the attention we were getting with Olga/Ulga the Traveling Bra in our company. People were snapping pictures left and right, shouting "Over here, Over here" "Just one quick picture for TMZ."

About that time, Ulga stood straight up in her float and launched two middle fingers straight into the air! "Here's a picture for ya, bitches! Now who's ALL THAT!" There we all were, mortified, right there on the steps of the Mobile Convention Center, just moments after the above picture was snapped. AD yanked her down to the floor of the float and promised she would regret it if she made such a scene again.

We were so humiliated that our own personal grand entrance was overshadowed by the spectical of Ulga, so we all made an effort to keep our distance from her for a while. We went to the bar and because the lines were so long, we were smart enough to get two drinks at a time. (Ain't Mardi Gras grand?) We ran into friends from highschool, former coworkers, and even made a new friend or two. We accessorized our already gorgeous gowns with the likes of feather boas, a safari hat, and the sloppy spill over of a drink or two. Mardi Gras Balls tend to get a little rowdy as the night progresses. We were on top of the world as we sang "Brass Monkey" by the Beastie Boys at the top of our lungs.

Then, from across the dance floor we saw a ruckus brewing. We ran up just in time to hear Ulga suggestively saying to this monkey, "I got somewhere special for you to put that banana."

Trouble was, that monkey had a date and that date was not too happy at such a forward advance.

"Who do you think you are, talking to my Monkey Boy like that?"

"Who are you and whatcha gonna do about it?" Ulga says to the companion of the monkey of which towered over her like the skimpy little bra that she was.

"I'll show you," the Monkey Date said. "Hope you know how to swim..."

We all looked around at eachother knowing this was about about to get ugly.

The Monkey Date of the Monkey Boy snatched Ulga up like a rag doll, drug her across the dance floor and onto the terrace of the convention center.

"This'll teach you to mess with my Monkey Boy!" The Monkey Date spread Ulga's straps to fashion her as her own sling shot and "Peooooooooooooow" launched her into the Mobile River.

Ulga landed in the water with a thud. Our jaws dropped.



"What are we going to do?" AMH said. "Fish her out of the river?"

"Heck no. One of those tug boat captains will find her and pick her up."

"But what if they don't? Where will she stay?"



AE and I turned to eachother and as if we had rehearsed it, started singing:


"U-L-G-A. You Ain't Got No Place To Stay!"

"You ULGA. Yeah, yeah. You ULGA!"

"Woooooo!"

***********************
The next day we recapped the evening over Bloody Mary's at Callaghan's, my favorite pub in town. We knew that although Ulga wasn't the classiest of bras, we were still in the presence of an interesting character. We hoped the best for her and hoped she could let go of some of that pent up anger. Like Don Henley said, "If you keep carrying that anger, it'll eat you up inside."


With our heads held high and our drinks in the air, we made a promise to make The Osiris Ball an annual event, with or without traveling underwear.

A Positive Spin

The weather girl said on Monday that we'd get a lot of rain today, some of which could be severe, so we were advised to "Be prepared. It's gonna be a wet one."


For whatever reason, I felt it my duty to tell as many people as I could. "You know, we're supposed to get rain Wednesday. It might get ugly, too" "Don't forget your umbrella." On my way out the door this morning I made an effort to tell the guys working on the house next door, "I bet y'all are wondering how much work you can get done before the rain gets here!"

When rain looms in the forecast, there's a certain sense of urgency to get as much of the outdoor type of activities done while you can. Remember grade school when you'd be forced to play Heads Up Seven Up at your desks because of a rained-out recess? I don't know, maybe I am feeling this way because this past weekend was absolutely gorgeous and I am proud to say I consumed every ounce of the 70 degree sunshine I possibly could, and I hated to see it end. The thought of Wednesday rain started hanging over my head (dare I say, like a cloud?) first thing Monday morning.


It sprinkled for 30 minutes today.


So instead of the weather person reporting the notion of nasty weather, why don't they just say, "You know, it might rain for a little bit on Wednesday, but don't worry it won't last forever."

The Party Begins

The text messages and phone calls were flying just like beads from a Mardi Gras float. A.D. even insisted Olga have her very own float by which to make her grand entrance into The Osiris Ball. A.B. stocked a treasure chest full of any adult beverage imaginable, for who knows the chosen elixir of a Traveling Bra. B.F. took time out of her overflowing schedule of parties to travel from New Orleans to make her acquaintance. And A.M.H, with swatches for bridesmaids dresses in one hand and a list of references for photographers in the other, tossed everything aside to enjoy in the revelry. Olga even had her very own Mardi Gras mask! Now A.E’s involvement was by being the hub of communication. If someone had an idea as to how to entertain Olga, or an update on her whereabouts she would immediately send text messages to the rest of us so everyone was in the loop. (Besides, how can someone with the reputation of not being able to keep up with a $60 pair of Spanx offer anything but uneasiness and discomfort to a Traveling Bra?)

I offered myself up as Olga’s chaperon, where I would be hostess to the world traveler for an undetermined period of time. I would show her a good time, perhaps teach her a thing or two about my fair city, (thus also making me an ambassador of sorts). The sense of responsibility along with the many hats on my head was starting to weigh on me. I went grocery shopping for the first time in probably two months. (There aren’t many trips for me to the grocery store when I can get all of the items on my diet at the Rite Aid around the corner. That diet consisting of beer, cereal, milk and Doritos) I dusted baseboards of which I know have probably been tended two once in the last year. I scrubbed toilets. I swept. I mopped. All things that I can assure I do not do. I have a plaque hanging in my kitchen that reads: “I understand the concept of cooking and cleaning, just not how they apply to me.” Lately I’ve been seriously considering canceling my cable so I can get a maid. I swear, to me it would be worth it.

So the first week of February finally came around. From my last post, you know how sensitive I am to the notion of a visit of someone or something special. I was beside myself, and I honestly think the rest of the girls were too. There was a point in time the closer it got to The Ball that it dawned on me that we were more excited about the visit from Olga the Traveling Bra than we were about the Osiris Ball! So as the preparations continued and there was still no sign of Olga, we were starting to get our feelings hurt. Good Lord, we’re about to be stood up by a bra! Oh, the shame!!

As we raised our champagne glasses in unison and offered a toast to the notion of a safe arrival of Olga, there was a Let-Me-in-the-Door-NOW kind of knocking on the front door. We all looked at eachother in amazement that our alcohol induced prayer (ain’t that really what a toast is afterall?) was answered. We ran to the front door, opened it wide and there she was! She made it--A cigarette in one hand and a fifth of whiskey in the other.

“Where’s the pisser in this joint?”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“You heard me. I gotta pee.”
“Ummmm, well, come on in. It’s the second door on the left.”

She took a long pull off the bottle, five bubbles to be exact, and wiped her mouth with the back of the hand. With a long final drag of her Camel Unfiltered, she flicked it onto the front porch and with the angry twist of her ankle preceded to grind it into the outdoor rug where a large cigarette burn remains today. She tossed the whiskey bottle over her shoulder and said, “Outta my way,” as she blows the remaining smoke in our faces.

We scurry behind her. A little shocked at what just happened yet super excited that our guest had arrived. We couldn’t wait to hear about all the fabulous people she had met and all of the beautiful places she’d been in her travels. Through the door we heard the most awful coughing and hacking one could imagine. She must have been in the restroom for ten minutes before she emerged.

“Olga, we’re so glad you finally made it. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yeah, gimme a shot of Wild Turkey and a Tequila chaser. And my name ain’t Olga”
Wowza, I thought. This is one helluva broad. I thought for certain she’d be a wine drinker, being from California and all. But who was I to judge…y’all know what I drink. And if her name isn’t Olga, then what is it? I am certain A and I exchanged emails with the blog mistress of OLGA. Unfortunately I have a bad habit of not just coming out and asking, “I am sorry, but what is your name again?” We all know the window of opportunity to clear up any type of name mix up passes quick. Delores. Need I say more?

The next two hours didn’t get any better. Comments like, “The last place I visited was much nicer than this house” and my favorite, “Do you think you’re gonna fit your fat ass in that dress” were interrupted by belches and gas passing. Although we were appalled at the behavior of this Traveling Bra, we were gracious hostesses and went ahead with our plans.





“Olga, you’ll be happy to know that A.D. came up with the great idea to build you your very own Mardi Gras float. We thought that would be the proper way for you to make your grand entrance into the ball tonight. Whatta ya say?”

“I say to hell with that float. I ain’t gettin’ in it. You get it in it! Besides, I told you my name ain’t Olga. It’s Ulga.”

I’d had enough. Damnit I don’t clean my baseboards for just anyone. This bra was about to climb into the float my friends made just for her and she was going to ride in it. She may not have liked it but when someone does something nice for you, you should be gracious and thank them for their efforts. This bra was wearing out her welcome and it was only 5:00p.m.! And I swear I thought the bra that was coming to visit was named Olga. Maybe I had it wrong all along. Due to the supposed mix-up, we had to make modifications to the float because it was personalized for “Olga”, not “Ulga”. (No trouble really for an “O” and a “U” are almost the twins of the alphabet family.) In hindsight we would have never taken the time to build such a grand Mardi Gras float for an ungrateful bra, but you live and learn.





Fun and fellowship ensued that afternoon and before we know it was time for us to get ready for The Ball. Sure, we were distracted every so often by Ulga barking orders to “Bring me another sandwich” and “Don’t you see my glass is empty? I need more Wild Turkey!”. It would take a lot more than a rude bra to break the spirit of the evening.