A "Saturday" Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte

April 30, 2011: a day that will live in infamy.  Ranked chronologically, it was Foxfields #5 for me, but ranked in terms of perfection, it was probably Foxfields #1.  It was one of those days that literally cannot be put into words, but I will do my best to capture its essence here.

I've had every single Foxfields experience possible: first year, I was the designated driver; third year, I took the free shuttle; fourth year, I biked; M1, I rode in the plot car; and M3, I took the Trustees charter bus.  I can't say which one was my favorite, but I can tell you I would throw myself in front of the racehorses before I ever DD'ed again.

But that is neither here nor there.  The day began with a visit to the Trustees tent in the chalet (not chateau) area.  The food and drinks were bountiful and free, setting the perfect tone for the rest of the day.  To nobody's surprise, Nosheen and I immediately launched into a barrage of Samsheen photos.  How could we let such a beautiful day go to waste??

We eventually made our way over to the VMed plot where, according to all of my pictures, I spent the rest of my day eating chicken fingers.  Seriously, I'm pretty sure chicken is prominently displayed in over 80% of the photos I took yesterday.  I also made the astonishing discovery that not only was Kathryn's plot the one next to ours, but Allen had purchased the plot next to hers, so I literally had four plots in a row to meander through.  That kept me busy for pretty much the rest of the afternoon, but I knew that someone as dashing as myself had to take breaks every now and then to be admired by his adoring fans.

Only a small period of time lapsed before Nosheen and I reverted to taking more Samsheen portraits, going so far as even to recreate some of our classics from two years ago.  So what if we've memorized every picture we've taken together?  Is that really such a crime??

 

Alas, the day went by all too fast, and before we knew it, the races were over and it was time to head home.  To our great dismay, Jen, Cassandra, and I watched as our bus pulled away, leaving us stranded at Foxfields.  We shamefully walked our way back from the bus lot to the VMed plot, where we were picked up by a truck full of M4s.  The trip home was largely uneventful until we arrived home and I realized that the bow tie that had been hanging loosely around my neck was no longer there.  With support from Cassandra, I resolved to retrace our drive and walk along Barracks Road until I found the bow tie.  The gods of the Foxfield Races must have been smiling down on me yesterday, because I miraculously located the High Cotton Tie I had borrowed from Cameron on the side of the road near the Georgetown Road intersection.

The long labors of the day had worn me out, and the old man inside of me surfaced and insisted that I crawl into bed immediately upon making it home.  And so, I slept from 8pm until 8am, the twelve most glorious hours of slumber I've had in recent memory.  I dreamed a beautiful Jason-Bourne-and-Sister-Act hybrid dream about being a fugitive from the CIA disguised as a priest, but even the sweetest reverie cannot compare to the flawless day I had just experienced in real life.  Thank you, Foxfields.  Same time next year?