Polsih my boots, peon.

"East meets West" was the name of the benefit dinner and auction we volunteered at last night. People were encouraged to dress up in Asian or cowboy western attire. Although I was tempted to paint my face white and go as a geisha girl, I reverted to my I-don't-so-much-really-like-dressing-up ways and just slipped on my Harley Davidson boots. Andy conveniently has a small plethora of western wear, including his $5 bargain boots. Nothing says "Hey, everybody. Look at me" like a 6'7" white boy in camel colored cowboy boots, a belt buckle and a flannel shirt.

We were gonna get a picture with this guy sporting a kimono, but we thought he might Jackie Chan us, hence the solo couple.And all I can say right now, being 3 months pregnant (not quite, actually), is thank goodness for stretch denim. Trust me, I realize my thighs and booty are ginormous. I really should learn how to pose so I accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative.

Andy suggested we create a cowboy boots club. He accepted the nomination to be president (mostly because his boots could totally kick my boots' butt), and announced that his first order of business as president was to make me polish his boots. The club was dissolved right then and there.