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First, there was a dress code. You had to wear something you would wear to an “English� shooting party — not a Tennessee shooting party. My husband did not quite understand the assignment. His first try was shorts and a baseball cap. His second try was jeans and a T-shirt. His third try … I told him what to wear. No baseball cap, duck boots, long sleeve shirt and a shooting vest. He complained, of course, and claimed he would not be able to shoot in this uncomfortable outfit, but I explained this was not about him!

Now, my friend, the hostess, had acquired some English hunting boots to wear to the event. She had bought them online, apparently from an elf. The size 8 she had hoped for did not fit. Thankfully my foot is elflike, so she brought the boots to me to wear. Now, these English boots are not like regular Tennessee boots. These lace up the front to a point and then buckle around your calves.

Needless to say, at some point, my husband was helping me buckle them and the words “fat calves� escaped his lips. Nevertheless, after some tugging and a few choice words, my fat calves were securely encased into these gorgeous English hunting boots. And off we went.

We arrived to drizzle which was very “English� and to all these Tennessee people dressed like British people. There was a feast of all sorts of delicious treats and a multitude of guns. “This is my type of party,� were the words that came out of my son’s mouth.

And then the real fun began. For my husband and son, it was the clay target shooting. For me, it was taking pictures with the bride and groom-to-be in my English hunting boots.

Needless to say, a great time was had by all!

And then later we had to struggle through getting the boots off.

But that’s a story for another day. Fat calves and all!