One of the best things about my job is putting together our equine section.
I love horses and the people who raise them so much that I have even endeavored to look like them.
Let’s face it; horse riders look impressive in tapered jackets and tight pants, always worn by svelte figures with high, polished leather boots.
I may not be able to swing my leg over the saddle (without a party of five assisting me), but darn it, I want to look like I can. Maybe I just want the figure to wear the pants. Whatever. I am a poser.
This fall’s style guides dictated the return of the equestrian look. The trend comes around about every five years and I usually catch up every six, so this year, I was keen to look the part.
Unfortunately, much like horse riding lessons of my own, I cannot afford such fashions.
I probably shouldn’t have started with the boots, but I confess, I had a girlie moment recently when I met and fell in love with a pair of black leather knee-high riding boots with the slim foot and the tight leg, elegantly styled for the horrible reality of skinny jeans.
Well, they were called “riding” boots, but I can assure you, there is no way you’d wear these in a barn. These were poser boots meant for runways, not barn stalls.
But I wanted those boots and I know, in their silent way, they wanted me too. Alas, it was not meant to be. It came down to a pair of boots or three months of my daughter’s horse riding lessons and I would rather spend the money on the privilege of watching her, just for the sheer joy of seeing her do what I am too chicken to try. She is not a poser.
Once upon a time, I even tried the western riding fashions, the blue jeans and tapered shirts with the wide belt and bling-ed out belt buckle. I found the perfect one with two hearts surrounded by fake diamonds. It was big, but it spoke to me. It said, “Kelly, let out your inner cowgirl. Yeehaw.”
I have seen those sexy cowgirl types, with long hair and attitude-strutting blue jeans, driving their pick-up trucks. Those are my kind of people.
Sometimes I get to ride in the Carpenter’s garbage-infested pick-up truck, so I could totally be a poser.
I had cowboy boots, as was the fashion in the ‘90s. I loved those boots. I wore out the soles on many a dance floor. Ah, good times. Maybe now I could add a cowgirl hat, because every girl secretly wants one of those bent down low brim hats (you do so).
As a self-proclaimed fashion victim, I admit I made a hasty belt-buckle purchase at the Truck Show. All the cool kids had one. I wanted one too.
Except, I got home and realized that the giant buckle could not flatter a figure that has gone from equestrian tone to looking like Pillsbury Crescent rolls trying to escape spandex.
Nothing should draw attention to my mid-drift. What was I thinking?
Maybe I should stop being a poser and learn to ride a horse, then I would be fit and could squeeze into riding pants and wear really cool boots. The Carpenter would pay to see that. Maybe he should pay for the lessons.
Writing has been my passion since I learned how to hold a pencil (which I still cannot do properly). Despite my father’s insistence that I would starve to death in this career, I remain well fed and eager to write more. They say you should do what you love: I love to write.