I am very aware of my surroundings and usually never miss much. I can hold a conversation and still witness, though not happily, an old man inappropriately adjusting himself at Walmart. I never miss any drama, which means I will see you flip off your significant other, whilst you are sporting that cheesy smile.
I also never fail to spot the
Oh wait, that's my reflection. Strike that.
The most amusing part of watching others, I find, is eyeing their outfits. I seriously wonder if some own a mirror.
Last weekend Mr. Schmitty and I went to two concerts; Carrie Underwood on Saturday and Daughtry on Sunday.
Two different types of music = two different types of people = a whole lotta strange.
The concerts were being held at a nearby festival. Before they began, we walked through the rows of food vendors and t-shirt mongers. We were thoroughly enjoying our grown-up weekend out. As we strolled hand in hand, we entertained ourselves by pointing out the various ensembles the patrons were donning.
And we were laughing our butts off.
There was the shirtless, rail-thin boy who looked like he needed a belt to hold up the jeans that seem to be sliding down his boxers. Oh wait, maybe that was a fashion statement.
There was the did-you-spray-paint-those-jeans-on biker chick who needed a little more fabric added to her top before she fell out of it.
There was the 10 foot giant that must have grown during the opening act's performance because his jeans were about a foot too short and his shirt about three sizes too tight. Maybe he stole the rail-thin boy's shirt. Hey, and maybe they swapped jeans too.
That would explain a lot.
The music was about to start and we found our seats. We wiped away the tears of laughter and I said, "Thank GOD we're so perfect!"
Well, at least I am.