Homecoming. There I was, riding in the local slow lane college parade. No, I was not one of those elegant ladies of a certain age waving serenely from a top-down vintage convertible. I was among eight or ten ordinary,
somewhat chubby women riding in a small passengers bus. A couple thinner, younger ones walked by the bus, got the crowd's attention by tossing candy. We red-hatted riders grinned goofy smiles and waved
elderly hands. Crowd loved us; my cowboy hat got lots of laughs.
A couple of years ago I was inadvertently in a parade in French Louisiana. Yep, Cajun country, full-blown rural Mardi Gras. Not your
mad, New Orleans carnival, but just as much fun. Traditionally costumed horseback riders collect food for a giant communal gumbo. Kinda like "Trick or Treat?" You better pay up! Some say rural Mardi Gras, much closer
to the original traditions.
Anyhow, riding in the parade was not part of our week-long Mardi Gras program, but King Fate smiled upon us. Parade and festivities going strong in the countryside, but you know how tours
are. Gotta be some place at a certain time. The tour bus, one of LSU-Layette's, bright red, was emblazened "Ragin Cajuns." It lumbered into the parade expecting to exit soon, but that was not to be. There we
were, poor old folks, stuck to the end of the parade.
Our guide was mortified but we geezers loved it, our pleasure enhanced by killer pork rinds and box wine. One skinny, sour woman said to me, "Don't you know that fat is going straight to your heart?" "Not to worry," says I. "I'm neutralizing it with red wine."
Crowd loved us.
Something so cute, you know, about old people having fun. Next time, we're gonna block out the "R" on the bus. You know, "Agin' Cajuns."