Many moons ago, when I was a petite, single Kansas City cowgirl, I hightailed across the United States loving life as only wild and crazy thespians (it’s a person in the theater – look it up! ) types can. I came to know through my travels, Texas always welcomed everybody with open arms and a slap on the rear – ‘cause Texans pride themselves on BIG…and I’m not talking about the size of their boots (and I’m not talking about my rear!) Texans just prefer everything BIG and this isn’t news to y’all who own a TV, computer or read newspapers.  It’s just how Texans’ saunter!

Now I haven’t been back to Texas in some 20 years, and since I haven’t changed at ALL during that time, neither could have Texas.  So I planned me a Spring Break trip for my hubster and me (sans chillens), so as to take in what the doctor ordered:  to kick off our Midwestern Birkenstocks, find some quiet and relax a piece in San Antonio, TX.

First off, I should remind y’all I’m no whipper snapper.  I’ve matured nicely. As have the strength of my reading glasses.  The state of Texas; however, was still crying out like a new calf on its first rodeo day.  During the weeklong party before St. Paddy’s weekend (which we shuffled through single file), scores of middle-aged green-wearing, stroller-pushing, slurring and stumbling tourists flocked in droves. And with the sidewalks right on up that bright green Texas-Irish river, that can only spell one thing…big, green, W-E-T cowboys.  Not that we got to witness one, but I betcha an Irish Lone Star beer that those sirens we kept hearing were people on the other side of the loop waking up resembling green Oompa Loompas.

When your drunk cowboy (Not mine. Really.) falls sideways out of his chair at an Irish pub, here’s a tip for his party gal, “Don’t holler, ‘One more round for Texas Tech!’”  You’ll only leave 2 minutes later with full supersized beers on your table, and your “drunken cowboy” has a darn good chance of becoming your “sunken cowboy.”

The most shocking observation I witnessed was the strollerfulls of babies and toddlers on the loose.  I personally wouldn’t think kiddos would be prime choice for a St. Patrick’s Day river sideshow.  But these parents thought ahead!  They had their 5 year-olds watching their babies so the adults could get their drink on!  Way to be responsible.

Alas, our vacation was finally done so we moseyed to the airport, praying not miss our jumbo jet aimed at Dodge.  But I guess I didn’t stuff enough food and drink in my mouth during the week because my non-Texas “abs of steel” caused me to be escorted to the frisking area of airport security.  This was a first for me and the sheer unknown up ahead was titillating!

So security had me put my right foot out (aligned on a photo outline of a Sasquatch foot) which I’m sure was loaded with foot fungus, but I bit my tongue asking for a squirt of Tinactin foot spray because these people are capable of granting a full body cavity search.

Then TSA had me put my left foot out, and before you know it I had my arms in the air and it took everything in my power not to “turn myself about” and start singing the Hokey-Pokey; but once again… image of the cavity search, stopped me in my Sasquatch tracks.

After my near “TSA tango” experience, I excitedly shared with my engineer husband of how I needed to get this story out of my head and onto paper STAT!  His left-brained response was, “You need to get out more!”  You saw it here in print!  My husband promised me another vacation!!  “Yeehaw!”

Next time, however, I’m taking my abs-of-steel to Mardi Gras for some peace and quiet!