Knobby Tires or Stilettos...What's A Girl To Wear?

Well, it wasn't the Starbucks crowd in which I found myself surrounded yesterday afternoon, though it was a bit like a trip to the mall. The girls all looked like Avril Lavigne clones, the types you see selling jewelry in mall kiosks. The boys looked like those you'd find hanging outside of mall entrances, skulking in their baggy jeans, underwear showing. and spitting frequently enough to make you wonder what they'd do once the moat had been built.

.

Yesterday I attended the Monster Energy Motocross Nationals in Riverglade, New Brunswick. For those of you not current with the slew of energy drinks, Monster is emerging as a monster in the industry. They've got a gothically ghoulish logo in black n' lime and, as the major sponsor, I found myself tripping over their logo at every turn.

.

I wasn't the only one tripping. If you've never been to a motocross event before, then you've not lived a life full and prosperous. The track itself resembles a forty foot wide dirt roller coaster. It undulates, bends, crests and plummets. It's a sandbox for twentysomething thrill seekers. To keep dust to a minimum, an irrigation system sprinkled water onto the track between races. Inevitably some water made it's way into the spectator's area, creating muddy foot paths and wildebeest-worthy watering holes.

.

As entertaining as it was watching the motocross races, I derived a greater thrill from watching the 'juice' girls, trying to negotiate the mud in their high heels. It was like watching Daisy Duke walk around the barnyard, except Daisy had the good sense to keep herself out of the mud by donning appropriate attire...cowboy boots and a push-up bra.

.

The 'juice' girls, surprisingly not given this name by me, were dressed in tiny black skirts, except for one breakaway, free-thinking rebel who had a tiny jean skirt (probably the product of Pentecostal parents). Their revealing Daisyesque tops were in keeping with Monster Energy's slogan...Unleash The Beast(s).

Watching a woman of any age trying to negotiate mud in high heels is a sick pleasure. Heels, like ties, should die a quick death. I never saw a juice girl go down in the Riverglade mire, though only through judicious planning of each and every step.

.

When I'm in Manhattan, I like to watch geriatric dolled up n'york women prancing down the sidewalk in their leopard skin skirts, Patrick Roying their way across the numerous sidewalk fissures. It must be hell for them, though having ogling men admiring their shapely gams must make it all worthwhile. Clearly I'm out of my league on this pointed issue.

.

Perhaps a reader could answer the question....why do women wear heels? Is it for the statuesque legs? A sense of towering tallness (can't blame them...it does feel great!). Or is it the bum wiggle that only heels can deliver? Really, someone let me know. Truth be told, I'm less into legs and more into heels, being one myself.

.

Well, all of this motocross talk has me feeling a bit peckish...time for breakfast. I'm in the mood for some hundred mile bacon. Spending all that time in the mud has left me inspired. After all, you are what you eat.