It’s that time again, folks. The respite mid-week, wherein I don’t have to struggle between cobbling together a new post or dusting off an old one and pretending that I’ve actually accomplished something by putting it out there again. Instead, I get to sit back and watch as you, dear readers, whip up whimsical literary concoctions based on a random photo. Your mission, should you accept: Compose something in the comments that would help the world understand what is happening in this snap.
For some reason, a limerick format comes to mind. Or perhaps an allegory concerning the disappointments one experiences upon receiving their paycheck. Maybe a pensive reflection on the lies that men tell? I’m just rambling, and I don’t want to inhibit your personal muse. Fly free, wordsmithing wrens. Follow your sun and let’s see where you land. (But a limerick? You’ll get bonus points for that.)
A few inspirational details:
We are at the Hidden Valley Ranch. (Actual name, I have photos to prove it.)
The ranch is on the outskirts of Pecos, New Mexico. (Santa Fe, for a geographical reference, is just down the road a piece. If you don’t know where Santa Fe, or even New Mexico, might be, well, this detail is useless for you. Sorry.)
The ranch was built by an “old money” family, if that term is still used and hasn’t been classified as politically-incorrect in some way.
We were invited to said ranch by a member of said family, for a week of relaxation and a disconnect from the world. (Smart phones don’t work unless you are huddled around the wi-fi hub in the main lodge. Each morning, as we all arrived for breakfast in said lodge, the phones would go off like it was the Fourth of July. The first morning, I screamed in fear and dove under a dining table the size of Houston, until I figured out what was happening. I tried to play it off, but I was busted for the drama queen that I am. As if we needed any verification.)
Said ranch is gorgeous. And huge. And filled with framed photos and memorabilia, making it very clear that life is different when you come from an old-money family. I tried to get adopted by said family, but this did not work out as planned.
Oh, and the guy in the photo is Partner, for those wondering. He was, as he always is, agreeing to participate in my blogging madness despite the sordid ramifications. I think I’ll keep him. Mmm hmm.
Okay, I think that gives you plenty to work with in this matter. (Although I should probably add that “limerick” is on the verge of being replaced with “amusing high-society anecdote involving a misunderstanding about the caviar” as a prize-winning road to follow but, again, find your own path.)
Wait, one more. Lawyer has just advised me that I should make it very clear that drinking was involved, 97% of the time. Of course it was, why should I have to make a point of that? We were on vacation and our phones didn’t work. Duh. I bet he doesn’t get adopted by the family either.
Now, go forth and amaze me.