We went to the polo yesterday. I can't say I really enjoyed it, even though we thrashed India 14-2.
My ex's cousin was sitting about three blankets down, and I felt I was being scrutinised all day. Inanda club was a dustbowl. So everything sand-like adhered to the sun screen on my skin, the strawberries, my toes. We sat in a dust patch that felt like Arizona. And the horses didn't help. I wore wedge heels. Never do that. Especially if you have to sit on a 45 degree slope/dust landslide. Everyone around me had dressed all colonial and hoity, then got a helluva lot drunker than I was, which was no fun. I got very horny and Steve refused to help me out at the back of the horse trailer. In retrospect I can't blame him, but sill, could've been fun. And Third World Ant wasn't there, which would've made it much more fun.
There's something about the horsey set. They arrive in a pajero, always wear big hats and say things like, "But Seymour! I spent all morning preparing the goblets for the champagne breakfast picnic, why do we have to sit with the lower class on the dusty slope?"
Look, at least we had strawberries and champgane. That was nice.