Horse Show

graphix: spwilcen

Horse Show

Last weekend she was making funny noises like she wanted to head to Franklin.   Franklin is Le Snobbery, fifteen miles or so south, so I conceded, asking…

“Fine.  What’s in Franklin?”

“Horse show.”


“I think.”

“What do you mean ‘you think’?”

“Well, it’s pre-Derby Trials.”

“As in ‘Kentucky Derby’?”


“In Franklin?”





“Yes.  I think so.”

“Best do more than ‘think so’ before we jump in the truck and start motoring for two hours.  There are five directions, you know.”



“Which I think this is.”

“…South.  East.  West.”

“You said ‘five.’”



“Yeah, but the truck doesn’t do ‘up.’  Helicopters do ‘’up.’  Truck doesn’t do down either, but that’s not really a direction.  Only folks do ‘down’ is BP Oil and they’re not any too damned good at it.”

“Well.  It’s north of Nashville.”


“I’ll MapSearch it.”

“This is not a show, but a race?”


“Doesn’t sound like an all-day thing.”

“It’s on a dirt track.”

“Horses don’t race on asphalt.  Dirt track?  This does not sound like something I want to drive two-plus hours to, gawk for fifteen minutes, turn around and come back.  Now, if there’s nekkid women…”


“Yeah, but horses usually mean women.  Women with money and nice derrieres.”  And usually, large derrieres, but I didn’t bring that up.  Usually handsome chests, too and a lot of uncontrolled bouncing while they ride Bonny Blue of Arab Yasmine from St. Augustine du Franc.  I didn’t mention that either.  The women at any show I’ve been unlucky enough to attend do not ride naked, but one can always hope.  Second thought, considering most of the ladies and their large derrieres …

“Maybe we don’t need to go.”

“Wait.  I’m thinking we might just pack a lunch.  Head up that way.  Look around a bit…”

“Nah.  Probably not very interesting.”


Chalk one up for my team.  I guess.

© S P Wilcenski 2020

7 thoughts on “Horse Show

      1. And but of course, you know, a LOT of editing goes on in my posts. I am at peril most days anyway from the stronger sex but I would have it no other way. Catch you later.


  1. Back when I was WAY younger (and probably better looking) I used to hang around a nude pond north of Stinson’s Beach (and north of Dogtown, I think). One day one of those nude young girls with the nice derrières came riding up. After we talked awhile and I professed having never ridden a horse, she offered me a ride. On the horse. behind her. It’s a memory I will fondly take to the grave.


    1. Dude! My dad, rest his soul, was my probation officer. If you don’t think that was a tough road! He never missed an opportunity to embarrass me with a tale about my going to break up a rock quarry midnight swimming party that was disturbing neighbors. Flower children, music, weed, and a rookie cop. Yeah. Same kind of thing, but a whole lot more restrained. We have our memories. Thanks for stopping by. Pleasant dreams. No disrespect to SWMBO.


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