Hey! What kind of pants are those?

So, I live in Arkansas, right? Not exactly the mecca for English riding of any kind. It is growing! Right now my tack shop Lead Changes is located on the campus of Salem Equestrian Center, the largest eventing facility in the state. We're taking 13 horses to Holly Hill Horse Trials in Louisiana this weekend, which is one of the largest events in our region of the United States Eventing Association (USEA.) That's a remarkable number, and I'm not even riding! Why you ask? Well, I'm setting up as a vendor there for the first time. It's kind of a big deal and I felt like it would probably be too much pressure to try and ride AND sell tack, especially after my disastrous run at Greenwood. I haven't exactly broken the news to the Syd yet. He's going to be VERY disappointed to see all his show buddies take off in trailers on Friday! Sometimes you've got to make the tough choices, i.e. sometimes being an adult sucks. At least I won't be there to see him cry because I'm leaving on Thursday. Poor Syd.

But anyway, I digress...
If you live in a state like North Carolina or Florida or Kentucky, I'm sure it's fairly common to see folks out and about town wearing breeches and boots. Here in Arkansas, not so much. Unless you happen to catch site of me shopping at Wal-mart or Kroger. Because I both ride and sell tack, you would be hard pressed to see me NOT in a pair of breeches and boots, and usually sporting a ball cap as well so as to not show off my helmet hair. In fact, there are probably folks around that believe it's a myth that I OWN a normal pair of pants or even have hair!
It's gotten to be big joke with my husband and me. We'll be at Chili's waiting for a table, and he'll say in a rather loud voice, "Hey! What kind of pants are those?" We just laugh and laugh...

So a few weeks ago I'm strollin' through Wally World's frozen food section, and I feel a set of eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. I casually turn around and say, "Oh, I'm sorry! Am I in your way?" The bearded gentlemen in full hunting regalia standing about 6 foot 3 inches and weighing in about 300 pounds, looks at me again, says, "No ma'am," pauses, and then says, "Hey! What kind of pants are those?" It's a good thing I wasn't drinking anything at the time or it would have ended up all over his face. I had to contain my amusement, but I very simply and politely responded, "They're riding pants." To which he replied, "Yeah, that's what I thought," and sauntered away. I couldn't WAIT to get home and relay that little anecdote to my husband.

Happy riding! And if you see someone wearing riding breeches and boots, make their day and ask them the same question, and see if you don't get a smile!