Late February: My daughter returns from visiting the ex-boyfriend biker in Colorado and Mardi Gras Weekend begins. There is a two-truck pile up on Congress that backs up traffic for hours. Not the only train wreck, according to her.
The Cajundome redoes everything and you can’t cross over from Cajundome Blvd. You must talk your way through several police checkpoints and approach from the rear parking lot. Hurricane evacuations are easier.
March: Xanadu has their ball, followed by Triton. Some Xanadu women wear togas, most wear real dresses. Xanadu and Triton cross-pollinate so whoever you see at one you’ll see at the other. Triton used to throw me out whe I wore my tuxedo. I miss those days.
King Gabriel has his luncheon, Bonaparte comes and goes, Queen Evangeline’s luncheon, Queen Evangeline’s breakfast–the Mardi Gras March has begun and nothing can stop it unless hell freezes over.
Then hell freezes over. The Lafayette parade route looks like some post-apocalyptic landscape where everything’s deserted. The only people left are at The Advocate, where a couple of men still know how to cook over open flames. The fire keeps us warm, too. Sometimes we see the walking dead with beads. Hunhhhhh…hunhhhhh….