Week two: Horses

Sparkles has this idea involving me, a millionaire (she sometimes makes him Irish to make me happy) and horseback riding.  She wants this to happen quite a bit.  So when the landlords said they had a horse thing coming up that needed volunteers and I might like to come and talk to people while volunteering, I said great!

Now, a little background.  I am not totally ignorant.  I am not my youngest sister Minx, who got on a cranky horse, dropped the reins and took off yelling “HOW DO YOU STEER THIS THING?”.  I know you don’t get behind a horse, yank on it’s reins, wave things in the corners of its eyes, etc.  I know how to stay on, and I know the theory of posting, though the practice utterly eludes me. I enjoy riding, when I’m on a cooperative horse, and I understand what people refer to generally when they do the basic horse talk.  But I am not a Horse Girl.

But hey!  I like volunteering!  I like horses!  I like physical labor! And I won’t be riding so I won’t be shaming myself in front of people!  And it would make Sparkles so very very happy if I could write a post about meeting a nice boy while volunteering with horses.  So.

I forgot.

Friday night some friends had a housewarming party.  It turned into a slumber party (a descriptor which I feel they would decry, as the idea was just to keep drunk people from driving).  Everyone was up incredibly late.  We two girls were up even later due to the thing that happens where the lights go out when you’re spending the night at a strange place and suddenly you feel the urge to talk about boys.  I was up till somewhere between 4 and 5 in the morning.  And woke up around 8, though I dozed till 10.  Saturday I was out late with friends, and I didn’t sleep well due to drama (it twists my stomach so I can’t sleep), but I figured I could sleep in Sunday and make up for it.

I wake up at eight in the morning to knocking on my door.  Landlords are going, here’s the directions!  They seem slightly surprised at my crumpled, bleary-eyed wild-haired appearance.  But I recover and say I’ll catch them up.  I shower, brush hair and put on appropriate for horses but still nice looking clothing, and wish my boots hadn’t fallen apart.  And off I drive.

And drive.  And drive.  It’s a fair bit further away than I thought.

Eventually I get there.  Aaaaaand….meet lots of middle aged people!  By lots I mean maybe 10 through the course of the day.  As it turns out volunteers at these events aren’t actually there to do anything.  The worry is that sometimes things go wrong.  And with horses, things going wrong gets very wrong very fast, so they want to have people on hand in case of something like a beehive under a jump stinging all the horses.  So they want volunteers, not to actually do anything, but just in case everything falls to pieces.  So I had nothing to do.  But sit.  And listen to middle aged horse people talk.  About horses.  Which, as I’ve said, I understand, but I’m not an avid horse person, so I don’t care enough to be a useful contributor to such conversation.  I couldn’t even take comfort by making grass whistles because I didn’t want to scare the horses.

My most exciting conversation-AGAIN-was about the various fibers that are fun to spin.  Iam really beginning to think I am capable of nothing social but old-ladying.

The upshot?  Well, I’m getting younger.  At least this was middle-aged, not downright old!  And it was a lovely day to sit outside on.  But by the end I was almost hoping for a beehive just to give me something to DO.  So, alas for poor Sparkles, I guess her horseback riding with Irish millionaire plan will have to wait a little while longer.


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