Haute Couture

Went to a fashion show over the weekend. My boy wanted to shoot some models to build his clientele and my girl was star of the show. Now I am not a frequenter of fashion shows, let alone runway fashion shows, outside in 92 degree weather, when I was at home, sprawled naked across my bed prepared to watch the college world series in the anticipation of three SEC teams making it to Omaha.

I got their somewhat late, had to drop little momma of at the sitter and her disposition was again one of recalcitrance. In addition, when I arrived I had to use the bathroom so I stopped at my homeboy’s studio, which was across the street to take care of that. He was trying to convince me to go to some celebrity basketball game at Morehouse with those over his house (Dem Franchise Boy’s and this other kid that engineer’s for him). I respectfully declined and went on my way.

I arrived somewhat late. However, it was not late enough to miss the majority of the show. My boy was high post at the end of the runway snapping and my girl was looking like a real model. I saw her but she did not see me. I was on the backside talking to this guy with a barb-Q pit selling meat and beer and water who I found out was from Memphis too. But she did not see me I imagine since she called me from cell found to query about my location. To stop a fight I told her I saw her and described what she had on.
But the Bar BQ pit was the bomb. I mean it was the first fashion show I had gone too that served meat. So I enjoyed myself to the utmost, sitting in the shade, watching my girl model and my boy mogul every model into buying his pictures as if he was Mr. Haney on Greenacres, and eating ribs. Now that is fashion show and my idea of haute couture.