# 60 MS HOITY TOITY

So there we were in this grand secluded resort (as described in the previous post) attempting to mix with the Hoity-Toity upper crust of society.

Now we immediately realized that as country hicks, we wouldn’t be able to blend with the rich and famous without a certain level of class clumsiness. And on our very first morning at that resort, I turned out to be the clumsiest of all. But ironically, it was my ineptness that magically transformed me into a 'bona fide' member of the Hoity-Toity clan.

It started out when I donned my oversized floor-length housecoat, constructed from two large bathtowels I bought for five dollars at a Value Village Value Conscious shop and slammed my feet into my runners. And just to help you picture it – the housecoat I had on was a brilliant turquoise with large roughly shaped black-framed squares each with simple representations of pineapples and large lily blooms of florescent yellow, orange, and lime green. The colors, though brilliant and quite beautiful, clash with shocking perversity (deviance and abnormality). But so what? All I meant to do was move no more than three or four feet from the veranda to let the doggies relieve themselves and then quickly retreat to the cabin and crawl back into bed.

But before I could clear my sleep-fogged brain and before I could even get my wits about me, Hub and Son-in-Law descended the steps in an excited and upbeat mood dressed in full hiking gear ready to do battle with one of the more challenging hiking trails.

“Come with us,” they barked in unison, “this morning we are going up the trail on the other side of the stream.”

“Take a look at me,” I replied. “I can’t go like this. I need to change into jeans and a sweater.”

“No, no,” was Hub’s quick reply. “You look fine. Absolutely fine.”

They were both rushing me again and before I knew it, there I was off on a hike with two doggies on leashes and dressed in bold country-hick finesse. By the time we reached the start of the trail, snow began floating down from the sky in large puffy flakes. At the same time two large tour busses pulled up and another caravan of larger-than-life posh motor homes that dumped another sixty people at the trail entrance. Busy place now. But we sauntered on through the falling snow. The weather was damp and chilly but luckily for me, my housecoat was warm and cozy.

Now I want you to believe this. I didn’t mean to act hoity-toity. I really didn’t. But before long I realized that it was more than my attire that had people looking at me with such curiosity.

Hub and Son-in-Law were both dressed in black. Walking with purpose and determined stride on either side of me. One holding a fist full of doggie bags for scooping up doggie doo, the other walking another dog – a wee little Pomeranian. The Pom looking quite striking in his new zip-up canvas runners, prancing along the trail with steps that put me in mind of a miniature Lipizzan stallion. And there was I, in the middle, with my massive black Basset-Rottweiler Hound and my all white Shih-Tzu-look-alike mongrel dog and dressed in my eye-catching housecoat. We certainly appeared as a most unlikely group. There had to be an explanation for such an odd compliance of a slovenly crone in bedroom attire, three obviously pampered dogs, and two husky and neatly dressed men. I could almost hear what passerby’s were thinking as they gawked and whispered among themselves

“Well isn’t that just Ms. Hoity-Toity? Some eccentric old bag who demands her staff to utterly make fools of themselves in order to accommodate her eccentricity, her unorthodox dress, her too-many pets, and her foolish whims. No thought for how her staff might feel or how uncomfortable her silly outfit makes the rest of us feel.”

But despite the many curious looks, backward glances, and whispered discourses, no one asked for my autograph. Perhaps they would have if I had put on a more pleasant face. But I did see quite a few digital cameras discretely pointed in my direction. Of course numerous people stopped to pet the dogs and scratch their necks, but that didn’t fool me. It was just their way of trying to achieve the distinction of having had personal interaction with someone of notoriety (moi), without making that effort appear too obvious.

So, by the way, although I had always hoped to remain anonymous to you, my dear readers, there is a crack in that façade. If you ever hap upon a postcard in a tourist resort with a fascinating photo of an older dame dressed in a long housecoat of profuse colors with two striking-looking dogs and a even more striking-looking Pom in hiking boots, framed by two mysterious-looking bodyguards, that would be me and Hub and Son-in-Law.

Anonymous no more.

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And a final thought of interest only to the philosophical: You know many of us falsely surmise that the rich and famous have affected mannerisms and pompous attitudes. Perhaps this is not true at all. Perhaps it is simply our own assessment that gives them this reputation. With our own insecurity, we (meaning the common people) have built the false front or façade that blocks their world from ours. And in our envy and our efforts to mimic them, we, rather than they, become phonies. So maybe the reverse is true rather than what appears to be a collated conclusion. We are the phonies in trying to mimic them, and they are the disaffected real-deal that we purport to be. Could it be?

Next post – a bit more about this exceptional holiday.