Horse Races > Polo Matches

This weekend represented the annual flocking of the masses to Charlottesville for the annual event known as Foxfield.  I was so eager to catch up with all of my college friends that I had to remind myself to be less animated.  The weekend is a marathon, not a sprint.  All in all, it was a smashing success filled with blue skies and camaraderie, Take it Away and the Virginian, less Brain and more Garvon.

After the weekend, my friend Christine and I ate dinner with my parents, who were, I believe, more excited to see her than me.  Father Gavron, the soothsayer, gave us insight into our futures.  When he and his buddies get together, they inveterately exchange stories from their more youthful days.  Christine and I made eye contact and exchanged a nostalgic heartfelt glance, as we realize that 82% of our weekend was dedicated to that; “Remember that time when…”

For example, there was that time that Christine and I were at a recruiting dinner for a company for which we were interviewing.  We were discussing how we had a thriving symbiotic relationship.  I didn’t have a bowl so I always borrow hers.  She didn’t have a lighter so she always borrowed mine.  Noticing the looks of horror and dismay on these prospective employers’ faces, we realized that our word choice gave an uncanny allusion.  Immediately we interjected.  She borrows my lighter to ignite the grill.  He borrows my bowl for his cereal.  Needless to say, they deemed me unqualified for employment.

With the weekend under my belt, it’s back to the mundane.  Although for the past few months, I have been trying to develop a get-rich-fast scheme, all attempts futile so far. But I’m pretty sure I stumbled upon the billion dollar deal while in Charlottesville, I just have to work out the logistics.  Essentially, I plan to bottle up the mirth and gaiety of Foxfield and sell it for a pretty penny across the United States.  I mean, who doesn’t like a beautiful day at the races with 30,000 of their closest friends in a bottle?