Mardi Gras

I am not a party-goer. Nothing... NOTHING... about the idea of Mardi Gras appeals to me. Large crowds, drunks, cheap women, cheap beads, loud music, loud voices, random noise, pushing, vomiting, litter... yuck! Neither am I particularly devout; the beginning of Lent is not marked on my calendar by way of sin or virtue. So, when I was informed on February 9th (Ash Wednesday) that San Diego had hosted one of the country's Top 10 Mardi Gras celebrations the day before (Fat Tuesday), I was surprised to realize I was a bit disappointed that I'd missed it. Okay, so I have absolutely no interest in it. So what! Any traveler worth her salt, finding herself within mere miles of a Top 10 ANYTHING, would check it out. This salt-free traveler, however, was home, oblivious, and one step away from frozen pizza and Hee Haw reruns. Or not. But you get my point. At least I had no trouble getting out of bed Wednesday morning... and I wasn't surprised by a sobering stranger waking next to me. Points for me. I think.