The King Lives and other scary events on a Saturday

This weekend brought a swarm of Elvis' to Ypsilanti... that's right, it was the Michigan ElvisFest. For the uninitiated and uninformed, it is a 2 day romp at Frog Island in Depot Town. This year, I did not actually enter the festivities, but heard a few of the performances while sitting outside Aubree's.

The day actually worked something like this... I overslept and had to quickly get dressed, brush my hair and run out after being up for 5 minutes to meet Mal at Bombadill's on Mich Ave. Not having a clue about weather, but having plans to be outside in July at a Festival in honor of his majesty, I opted to wear a blue Hawaiian-ish flower dress, which, albeit on the short side, is still quite cute. Obviously, if I am adorning it, it is cute, but I do digress on a fit of vanity.

Turns out, it got rather chilly, and the partner in ElvisFesting was not feeling well, so Mal and I decided to brave the white polyester-ed middle aged crowd ourselves... but begged off after the price of admission outweighed our desire for sarcasm... plus we only planned to peruse the event for 30-40 minutes and didn't want to drop $12 for the pleasure.

After a nice and calorie laden lunch, we headed back to the cars... while walking down Hamilton, the wind blowing and the sounds of Elvis floating through the air, I did not hear a bike approaching from behind. The dude on the bike was probably about 60, his helmet askew, and passing at such a slow speed as he checked me out, looked at me and said "Excuse me, baby" in the creepiest of manners that my impulse to laugh and scream "eww" simultaneously left me from emitting any sound. Instead, I let Mal laugh, as she didn't hear what he said, or even how (which intonation was the major factor), and I just brought my hand up over my mouth until I was able to get the necessary "Ick" out. Then we were really able to laugh.

But it was scary, in one of those creepy kind of ways. And made me glad that I continued to do a "dress check" to make sure my underwear were not exposed. As I had told Mal earlier, "It isn't paranoia if people can see your underwear."