A side effect of the fire pit.
As cynical as I sometimes am about the lake-going culture around here, and as nice as I find it when people flee on the weekends, thus getting out of my way... on a pleasant summer evening, I can see the appeal. It would be nice to sit around that fire among the quiet trees, by the cool water. But it's so far removed from my normal reality, I usually don't even think about it.
Oddly, this is two of my friends in less than a year who have hosted white trash theme parties, with an abundance of cheap beverages and low-rent foodstuffs. It just goes to show that you can put the girls in grad school, but they still feel the link to their roots. How did Hannibal Lector put it: something about not more than one generation out of the mines? Or off the farm, as the case may be. In some ways, I'm very much a "well-scrubbed rube," but not in a Carnivale way. Worldliness isn't confined to the big city, where there are plenty of gullible people...
I almost wrote "worldliness is next to godliness," but I'm not sure what that would mean. Although I'm sure it's true. Maybe not as true as "wordiness is next to godliness," but close enough.
Anyway, at the party, I represented the colorful white trash, bringing a bottle of Pink Truck and a Boone's Farm Blue Hawaiian (which tasted much like the Powerade "blue stuff" with Malibu rum cocktail I've made when my stock is running low). Nothing like day-glo, Mad Scientist drinks! I never drank the Boone's Farm when I was a small-town girl, thus skipping one of the major milestones. Instead I went straight to the champagne, and the Kahlua and Haagen-Dazs shakes, already striving for the sophisticated. Fortunately, it's never too late to experience the pleasant aspects of stupid adolescence.