City Babes head to the Country

This weekend, Lady Clifton, Babe Sr., a few guest babes and mangs and I roadtripped it out to the great Hawkeye state for some good, clean Midwestern fun. We planned to stay with a friend of Sr.'s (Farmer Babe) who may or may not live at a boarding school on a farm. Lady and I left at your standard Friday roadtrip time and drove west. Our car was loaded down with an air mattress and bedding for eight, just in case. So the sherpas forged ahead, with great excitement and tunes ablarin'. Once we got out of the urban jungle and into the fields, we stopped for food at the only rest stop for miles. During our luxurious dinner in the "picnic area" (food court-style tables in a cafeteria overlooking the highway), we heard from Sr. that her car was running an hour behind. Well. Might as well have some ice cream and play some arcade games at the rest stop, Lady and I decided. Sorry babes, we really tried to bring back souvenirs, but "the Claw" is just too dang difficult.

After killing an hour (no joke), we hit the road again. And after getting a little lost in the cornfields in the dark without a GPS, we actually found the farm. Farmer Babe was still out raging, but she told us which rooms to claim in the guest house. She also told us to be quiet because there were a Grandma and Grandpa staying in one of the rooms, and to not sleep in the biggest room because that was set aside for Grandma, "for when Grandpa starts snoring too loudly". Ok, that leaves the two smallest rooms, both of which were infested with ladybugs. None of the babes had a problem with these innocent little creatures, but the mangs sure freaked out and insisted on killing each and every one before going to sleep.

In the morning we had your standard tailgate and gameday experience, except with a devastating defeat and a stadium full of stunned fans. But we sucked it up and went downtown afterward to enjoy the college town experience, drinking beers outside on an unseasonably warm day.

After a while, we ventured into one of your not-so-classy joints on campus, where we witnessed a really intense game of Country vs. City flip cup. The scene was described by some as a train wreck, and more of a shit-show by others. Farmer Babe was hit on by a married friend-of-a-friend that kept asking if she was a hippie, and tried to provoke her by saying "McCain" really loudly in her face. After getting no response, he gave up and flashed a drunken peace sign while muttering "Peace and love....peace and love....", and ending it with a compliment: "You have really nice teeth." We heard later that his wife was not pleased when he got home, rang the doorbell and promptly fell off the porch just as she was opening the door.

After a long day away, it was time to head back to the farm. As we drove down the gravel road, we quickly realized that something had changed while we were gone. The wind had shifted or the field had been plowed, because suddenly the smell of manure was overtaking our nostrils. Lady and I sat in the car with the windows rolled up, breathing through our mouths, unsure what to do next. Once we got out of the car, the stench was overwhelming. We ran to the building like a stink bomb had gone off and we had to take cover. Farmer Babe casually strolled along, wondering what we were freaking out about: "You babes know that this is a FARM, right??"

Needless to say, these city babes were happy to drive away from the wide open spaces of manure and get back to our smoggy urban paradise. The baberhood has never looked so clean or smelled so fresh. It's good to be home.

Yours truly,
Goldie Wilton