In Hindsight (so to speak) – edited w/pics

So ends Mardi Gras for 2012 – or so ended it this past Tuesday to be more specific.

It was a grand season in preparation (always a party), the Ball, and the parade. As last year, we had terrible weather for our parade which was last Saturday. In fact this year we were advised the day before we rolled that we would be delayed for four hours to allow the lightning storms in the area to pass. No problem. I got to sleep in some. As it ended up, however, I heard we became the only parade in south Louisiana that rolled Saturday. All others were cancelled by either participants or municipalities. Friggin’ pussies.

We were as prepared as we could be, but all got drenched. So? The beer was cold and the temperatures were reasonable and down here – have a parade and they will come. And they did. The show had to go on. As we loaded, one krewe member asked how we were going to keep our beads dry. We had to remind her that they were…plastic. Yes. She’s blond.

And it was a “plastic” kind of day. On better days, our better throws would have been less weather resistant – stuffed animals and other items that do not fare well when wet. So most of us self-limited to plastic. Not a problem. Not all plastic is created equal and some throws remained more popular…more highly sought. This is important. When “trolling” for female spectators willing to bare breasts for booty, you have to have the right “bait.” The difference between a half-cent piece of plastic as compared to a full one-cent piece of plastic can be a real deal breaker. Truly.

Don’t get me wrong. Most of us don’t troll 100% of the time – we attend to the entire crowd and are especially attentive to the elderly and infirm (I would say kids too, but it’s an adult parade so shame on their parents for letting them attend – but we are careful to pitch to the kids too if they are about). But there is really no reason to troll. Once you’ve ridden a few times, you get the procedure down. As you are pitching your throws, you always take a glance “downfield” – just ahead of your float. They’re easy to spot…the ladies who play. They are the most bead-laden of course. Some examples:

My problem Saturday was that we were trolling with plastic. I don’t have good plastic. I don’t have discriminating plastic. My plastic is crowd-pleasing, but not good bait. MY bait is cloth. MY bait and signature throw is (new) Batman underwear. The wimmin go NUTS over Batman drawers. They work every time:

Soooo…Saturday I had fun even though I had come to realize it was to be a booby-free day. UNTIL…I dug deep into my bag and came out with a no-more-than-two-cent-Chinese-made gift from heaven. How it got there I will never know. All I can do is assume righteous living DOES pay off and miracles DO happen! It was a small stuffed doll. I mean action figure – that’s what it was – an action figure. Of…Batman. My persona and patron Saint.

Since we were coming to the end of the parade, I quickly looked downfield and there she was. No neck. Beads up to her eyeballs. A player. I danced my bait on the float railing and…WHAM…HOOKED! Game on and it goes like this (they always go like this): she begs for the trinket; I demonstrate (by pretending to lift my shirt) what she has to do to get it; she balks, but by now is walking/running (this varies depending on our float speed at the time) along side of the float, not giving up; I repeat the price for the prize; she puts on puppy-dog eyes, sticks out her lower lip, cocks her head slightly, raises both stretched-out arms to me, “PLEEEEEZE?” It would melt most, but I’m a seasoned veteran of the Mardi Gras wars and tell/show her once again what needs to be done for the coveted action figure…the one-of-a-kind throw. And, as it always goes, her eyes finally relay the game’s over. I win. We’re at a brisk walk by now as she moves to get enough beadage off to actually perform the maneuver. And her soaking wet top (I don’t know what kind…I couldn’t really see it) was NOT helping matters. The more she struggled, the more she got tangled up and as the float moved on, we both knew it was too late. Game over. We both lose. Not enough time and too much energy and engineering required. All of a sudden her look of both major disappointment and defeat turned to one of last chance desperation. She quickly turned her back to me, pulled down her pants, and…mooned me.

What?

That was a first for me.

Well earned my dear. Well earned indeed.