For my job I often have to frequent the country club.. not just any little small town “the pool is a little nicer” country club.. but instead, Des Moines Golf and Country Club, which happens to entertain the prominent socialites around the West Des Moines area. Although I don’t generally enjoy being at the country club, it does give me time to think. (and by think i mean scribble down my thoughts, of all the assholes who spend too much money to parade around the elitist pool, on my old crumpled up “to do list” found at the bottom of my purse).
– And on a side note.. I am sure that while I am contently sitting there (doing what I do best..) judging others.. on their parenting skills, voices which happen to be 4 notches louder than normal, and plastic surgery faces – all the other real country club members (ie. those who have a member ID, rather than just a “nanny pass”) are judging me on my unwashed hair, my bathing suit from Dillards, and my far-from-plastic surgery/liposuction body.
Anyway, now that all of that introduction is over… I am pretty sure that Thursday was “Bring Your Poor Cousin, Dusty to the Country Club for an Up Close and Personal Taste of the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” day. As I was resting my eyes (that’s right.. at work..) while the kids where engaged in their millionth lesson of the day, my blissful peace was interrupted by the strong shouting of an obscenely, aggressive male voice.
“You better start watching the ball!”
“Oh! Come on! Get tough!”
“Stop whining.. you gotta get 5 in a row before swimming!”
Why is the varsity football team doing drills at the country club? you might be wondering.. I was, in fact, curious myself… but I turned to find cousin Dusty, who was helping his 6 year old son become prepared for the Dallas Cowboy tryouts that were apparently occurring VERY soon. Right there at the Des Moines Country Club!! I mean there is a guy who can multi-task..
Dusty was perfect for Des Moines Golf and Country Club.. his beer bellied, step-child-red-spike-on-top-mullet, yellow buck teeth, ridiculous gold bling-ing cross necklace (note: guys who wear necklaces should not only be few and far between, but also should not wear them to the length of where the necklace gracefully dangles between their woobies..) and worn out Kmart swim trunks was just what i needed on that Thursday afternoon.
At first I found myself a little annoyed at Dusty’s presence (ruining my restful afternoon), then a little judgmental (feeling for the first time, a step above someone at the country club), not soon after the feeling of complete awe struck me (like a car accident that you just can not stop staring at), and finally I felt some comfort in Dusty’s courage to attend the “mock your poor cousin” day.
Although I am sure my son will not have to make 5 catches before being allowed swim, I did identify with Dusty. His camera in hand, (and mine hidden safely in my purse) we needed to capture all we could of this socialite society… I couldn’t help but hope that I would see him at next year’s reunion of us poor folk.
-And it should be noted, that just as I was feeling this sense of connectedness with cousin Dusty (probably from Arkansas), in walked Mister Right, to grace the presence of all those surrounding him..
17 and complete with his bright orange, popped collar, polo shirt… all to match his green plaid gingham (only be to seen on curtains in country time magazine) polo swim trunks and matching bright orange flip flops.
Hey, Mister Right?
Are you the original creator of that messed up, almost long hair, would be grunge if you didn’t shower twice a day, sexy look that all the boys are sporting these days?
… I think cousin Dusty and I pulled out our cameras at the exact same time…