Y'all, I'm back from Nashville, and let me tell you--what a trip!
The highlight and original reason for the trip was a Haute Couture exhibit at the Frist Center for Visual Arts. It was all the high society, glitz and French-ness we could handle. My mother, my "Sparkle Mom," and one of Sparkle Mom's best friends were my travel companions this time.
After the exhibit, we coined the phrase "Get your Couture on," which served as our mantra for the rest of the trip. Although in a place like Nashville, even Coco Chanel couldn't escape the pull of honky tonk.
By night, we strolled Broadway, a street famous for live music, Southern eats, and denim. There's nothing like fried catfish and hush puppies to make your "Couture" fit a little tighter. Our costumed attempt at country-trashy fizzled to merely fitting in with the crowds inside the bars. Even my "double denim" outfit and red wig didn't stop the show.
Determined to get the attention we surely deserved among the little black dresses and shining belt buckles, on the last night, three out of our four donned leopard print and a big attitude. Aside from the time I went in drag, I have never had so many comments on my outfit. Bars announced the arrival of the Cheetah girls and the tipsy bar-goers were enamored with our audacity to wear nearly matching dresses.
Glitz, glamour, and double denim aside, it's still Nashville, and it's still country. I was born in a state that shows a bucking bronco on the liscence plate, and this trip reminded me of my down-home roots. There are times when I wonder what would have become of me had I stayed in Wyoming. I could be living the dream on a ranch, roping colts, or whatever they do out there. So here's to the little rodeo in all of us, and to the great Toby Keith. Indeed, I should have been a cowboy...er... fabulous cowgirl.