Yeah, it's true, I am a fan of men in kilts -- notice I did not say "skirts" because a kilt, my friend, is not a skirt - - it's a magical, beautiful thing, but it isn't a skirt. There are very few things in this world that will stop me in my tracks leaving my lower chin on the ground than to see a big, husky, bearded Scotsman tying the laces of his dirty black boots (knee slightly elevated of course) on a rock while wearing his family colors. Lord, have mercy! (and by "have mercy" I do mean send that handsome man over immediately!) Give me the big, bulky, bearded, hairy man over the pristine pretty boys EVERY time.
I don't know when it happened; when the first time the sight of a man wearing a kilt had such an immense impact on me as a woman, but as a young girl I remember thinking it was both entertaining to watch men in parades playing bagpipes and to watch them proudly strut around in plaid kilts. I always wondered why some had this color and some had that, and why some had "purses" hanging from their waists but others didn't. I questioned my mom to the point that she drug me to the Bethany Library and found a few books on the subject to keep my wee mind busy. You don't know this, but from the time I was 4 I was literally jumping over my neighbor's fence to walk a solid straight mile to the Bethany Library so I could "read" books. Pictures are great too you know, and there they were - - all kilty and pretty. At that age I only looked at the kilts...today I tend to look past the kilt and let my mind wander. I do exercise the brain from time to time, it will wander to really cool places like the Highlands, the Lowlands, the Isle of Skye, Dunbar's Coastline....anywhere I can find a piper, but I'd take a bearded guitarist in a kilt as well, as long as he was wearing dirty black boots and being a man about it.
My good friends know, KNOW, I love kilty men so they often times send me posts, memes, little tacky things to keep my mouth smiling and my eyes popping. This past Christmas I think I received about 6 new posts with unkilted Scotsman holding wreaths making excuses as to where their kilts were. I had to laugh because I know that in Scotland the average home doesn't have a dryer in it so they hang their clothes on a "green line" outside...it RAINS in Scotland (a lot) so their kilts were probably soggy! Poor Scotsmen standing there all bear butt naked with flowery wreaths; just made me want to fly over to Edinburgh to make sure they stay warm! (wait...I'm wandering again) :)
Soon and very soon I'll be in the land of the plaided love clothes! I'll escape America for the shores of clifted grace, unending pipes, swirling woodwinds, harps, and of course, an acoustic guitar; you can't have music (not real music anyway) without an acoustic guitar! I'll trek the streets of Old Town, become one with the cobblestones of Glasgow, sweat as I climb to Arthur's Seat, and know the calling of my people in the mewing of the Lowland's winds and air. I will be home. Once I am home I'll probably take a minute to enjoy the air, the sky, the very rocks my feet feel beneath them, but it will NOT take me long to search for that brawny bearded bull bending over to tie his dirty boot. I will find one! I don't know what the heck I'll do with him when I do, but I will at least stare a good minute and probably giggle a little...wandering....just wandering.
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