Clif is lean, handsome, and lovely: my dear chap. He has put up with my uncensored crap for nearly 17 years.
And we do a good job of getting together regularly and keeping in touch. In fact, I probably wouldn’t be writing this, if not for Clif blowing all kinds of smoke up my self-esteem.
He encourages me to put all of my wacky stories to the page. He says that the stuff that happens to me does not happen to everyone. And since, he’s smart and funny– I was flattered enough to oblige him.
This winter, he bought tickets to Cavalia, a Cirque du Soileil inspired show, which is an incredible touring company of riders, dancers, performers and several stables of beautiful horses. And he bought the best tickets that money could buy for himself and his genetically blessed, charming executive Latino boyfriend, who lived in Mexico City.
Premier tickets, top shelf, top dollar, front row to the show. But the best part was that the VIP part of the tickets meant a buffet dinner, open bar, coffee and popcorn/dessert intermission and an after tour of the stables.
Literal red velvet ropes and carpet–putting the fancy in my pants.
At the time, I was a veritable pauper. I was in the midst of my big divorce, life in limbo, living on frozen Indian food entrees from Trader Joes. I couldn’t afford one fourth of one of those horsey tickets, let alone two. If I had a half a can of Campbell’s split pea soup and a glass of cheap red, life didn’t totally suck.
So, the news hits: it turns out that the stylish Latin stud-muffin cannot make it to the US for the show after all. He has a big job and there was a scheduling conflict.
Clif has a big decision and I leverage my best campaign. I tell him that no one on the planet would enjoy this more than me. I don’t play my pathetic cards. I just know how much I will relish this experience. And he mulls it over. And chooses me!
Phat win. Big night.
I love my Clif Plum-Cake. Horsey tickets or no. We’s gonna have some fun.
Day of show, being a non-fashionista, I chose between two of my only good outfits– not much of a mental struggle. I dressed in all black and meet at Clif’s modern, sleek, immaculate glass-viewed condo in the sky. We enjoy some wine and travel to the event. It’s under a big heated white-top.
For Atlanta, it’s freezing out. But under the white tent it’s very pleasant and we stroll through a literal red carpet. There are gorgeous red-dressed tables filled with food. I’m quite hungry, with stomach stalking my pancreas. I skipped lunch knowing I was going belly up to the trough.
I strolled the buffet, overwhelmed with joy, and loaded my plate with shrimp and a smattering of other delicious delicacies.
When I rejoin Clif, who is politely nibbling his plate of appetizers, he takes a look at my Bubba Gump boat-load of shrimp that I’ve off-loaded onto my plate (with a forklift). I exaggerate because it was only a pound or two. Not a true boat’s worth.
He says: “I see you took all the shrimp.”
Me: “Yeah….” (noshing– I am unashamed.)
Clif: “Seriously. It looks like you took the whole lot.”
Me: “God, Clif, I love this. I’m giddy. Look at my shrimp.”
Clif: “Yes, I’m looking. Are you really going to eat all of that? I’m going to go see if there is any left.”
Me: (calling out): “Good luck.”
Clif returns emptied plated and sad: “You really did eat them all.”
Me: “Yeah, you paid so much for those tickets that I’m making sure you get your money’s worth.”
Clif: “But they’re gone….”
I offered to share. But, lucky for me, they refilled the giant empty platter and Clif got a plate full too. At that time, I was on my third plate and wondering if there was time for a trip to the tailor to move the button on my pants.
The wine was flowing like Niagara Falls and I wondered out loud how this could be better. And I had not laid a singular eyeball on a horse yet. And I LOVE horses.
As a kid, I drew only horses and started riding at 4 years. Then I moved to showing and dressage. The horse is such an artful animal and so athletic and powerful. And riding them, you can channel their power and strength and glide on the wings of the wind.
We took some nibbles and some adult libations and we took our seats in the middle, in the center, in the very front row. I felt like Lady Mary on Downton Abbey, but certainly without the bulimia or willowy figure.
The show started and it was magic. Dancing horses, women standing on the tops, women dancing in ribbons, unpersoned horses dancing and prancing, a rainstorm, a river, horses galloping through the river. There was an earthen hill and tons of horses and riders. We were splashed…maybe with a little horse excrement. Because, these were such good tickets, you got that experience.
Poor fucks in the back row were clean and unsplattered. That is not living.
Because it’s one thing to see the show but it’s a whole other thing to be splashed with a bit of mud and equine leavings. It brings you into the show altogether.
I’m a chatter, a talker, a commentator. I was chatting all the way through. I was driving Clif just a wee pinch insane. I know him very well and my constant chatter was irritating. So I tried to curb it, but self-suppression has never been my strong point.
But there was one horse that had the typical unhappy horse body language with the pressed back ears, arched head, and tossing half-bucking posture. Apparently I mentioned this unhappy pony approximately 437 times. That’s not annoying at all, y’all. As you can imagine.
Clif adores such insider scoop. Okay, he didn’t, but I thought he might at some point. Everyone wants to get into the mind of the horse, eh?
Plus, I was in such heaven that I had to verbally articulate that heaven non-stop creating a bit of “non-Heaven” for dignified Clif.
Intermission came. We wandered back to the VIP area where there was an offering of coffee, champagne, and popcorn.
Popcorn is my favorite food ever. So I devoured three bags. I wish I was exaggerating. But I’m afraid that count is painstakingly accurate. Let’s just say that I had some champagne as well.
It was only halfway through and I truly needed to remove my pants and put on a toga, or a robe. I was bursting forth. Had the experience been truly perfect, this would have been THE TIME to offer a dressing room with Ritz Carlton robes, and fuzzy slippers.
I think Clif had some black coffee. Since I’m allergic to caffeine (probably thank God for all humans in my proximity), I just knocked back some additional champagne.
We took our front row seats again this time with popcorn and champagne.
I had DIED. I was in heaven. Popcorn, champagne, and Spanish Pasa Fino horses.
Horse Heaven
And my best friend Clif. Not in that order.
And the bubbly may have loosened my lips and made me talk more about everything I saw, although I swear I tried to be somewhat quiet. Clif was now plotting “a death by popcorn scenario.” Or maybe a fantasy of me being drawn and quartered.
And he may have second guessed his treat of having me join him at the horses. But he was too polite to admit it aloud.
There was an after show buffet of more champagne, coffee, espresso, and dessert. It was important to have a little of everything, although I wisely bypassed the tempting smell of espresso. Had I indulged, I would have been clinging from the ceiling from my fingernails, due to my caffeine intolerance. My already defunct filter would rip from the hinges.
And that’s the genetic cruelty because I adore the taste of coffee, but the caffeine chemical does not work for me a’tall.
Then, it was time for the tour of the stables and the variety of beautiful horses. The horses were gorgeous and we stopped and petted soft velvet muzzles and chatted up groomers. We read the plaques of their parentage. I managed to mostly behave, although I was waddling like an Emperor penguin, stuffed to the gills.
But, as we shivered out on the dark, damp urban streets, hustling after leaving the warm earthy sweat-scent of the stables, I chalked the night up to a total success. I spent a lovely pampered evening with a cherished friend, catching up, eating, drinking and being very merry–equestrian art and loveliness all around.
I am a lucky woman. Grateful too, most of the time.
But I was literally carried away by horses, transported by galloping grace. But walking to my car with my gracious generous friend, I was grounded by the beauty of such a rare and lovely evening.
