Happy Belated Travers' Day!

What in the name of monkey feet is she talking about??

Sometimes I forget I don't carry you all around in my pocket to see and experience everything I do.

I also forget there is a world beyond Saratoga...

...despite the fact that for 22 of my 29 years I was actually in that world.

My friends, this place in which I reside is not your typical small town.  Sure, we have restaurants you can barely fit your entire body into and boutiques that sell art and tattoo permanent makeup onto your face all in the same place.

We got ourselves a racetrack; the most historic racetrack in the world.

And this track is home to the longest running sporting event in the country: the Travers Grade I stakes race worth $1 million and the rights to be in the running for horse of the year.

(scroll down to comments for Corey's correction of my statement above, rest assured, there will be one.)

We get something like 45,000 people for the day, including a few celebrities.  Corey and I have run into Bobby Flay, one of the guys from the Sopranos, Bill Parcells, John Walsh, Rod Stewart*, etc.

Every year to celebrate Corey and I throw a pre-Travers party where we invite everyone and their mothers (literally, we had moms there) to hang out in our driveway to eat pastries, drink mimosas and try to avoid being pestered by the dog.

I try to spruce up the asphalt with a few flowery table clothes and flower arrangements.  Last year I managed to swipe some beautiful purple loosestrife from the side of the highway in the cover of darkness.  This year I went legit and swiped flowers from my own yard.

We eat and chat and then head down for the races.

We usually have a story to tell afterward.  For several years it was, "Can you believe how hard it rained?!"

Then there was, "Can you believe all the dang bees?!"

Last year, "Can you believe Betsy fell and had to spend the day in the hospital?!"

This year, "Can you believe we let Jennifer eat the crackers out of the dog's bowl?!"

I really get a kick out of this one.

See, after the party was over and we started to clean up I put a handful of leftover crackers in the dog's bowl because the trash was still downstairs and I didn't think five crackers would drastically affect O-dog's waistline.  Corey took them out.  Apparently our dog does not eat crackers.  He set them on the counter and we both walked out of the room.

Enter Jennifer.

Five minutes pass.

Enter Stacie.

"Ohmigoshthosecrackerswereinthedog'sbowl!!"

She had eaten all but two of them.

Poor thing was horrified.

And disgusted.

I told everyone I know.

And then we headed down to the races.  Another eventful year.

...

*It was actually one of the Vice Presidents at Corey's office who just happens to look exactly like Rod Stewart.