I own “eatin’ pants.”
Yet I’ve never been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras.
Sure, I’ve been to New Orleans – one of my favorite cities – many times, but never for Mardi Gras. Just seems kind of odd for a man with eatin’ pants. Mardi Gras, after all, marks the end of the Carnival season with its parties, parades and balls that began with the Feast of the Epiphany. As Midnight strikes, the gluttony of Mardi Gras gives way to Ash Wednesday and the far more abstinent Lenten season.
In secular terms, one week into our New Year’s resolutions, we break them. (Yes, that was me eating the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup behind the bus shelter last night.) We go on a bit of a bender for a few weeks or more depending on the year. Technically, it’s determined by the spring equinox and a full moon, but I say the finite quality of elastic has something to say about it, at which point we decide to be good for 40 days.
New Orleans can be decadent any time of year, but to celebrate Mardi Gras in New Orleans must be incredible. I’m not suggesting I deserve to see New Orleans during Mardi Gras just because I own eatin’ pants. No, I’m not the only one to belly up to a buffet in Vegas with a little comfort stretch in my waistband.
What I am saying is that I deserve to see New Orleans during Mardi Gras because I once bought a suit just to go out to dinner. Continue reading