September 5, 2017 at 3:32 p.m.
Black tie admired, but not required
One of the frontrunners is a private Catholic school in Maple Grove. Every year, this school throws a lavish fundraising gala. A few months ago, we received our invitation in the mail. The invitation read: black tie admired, but not required. My husband rolled his eyes.
I imagine that most dairy farmers have the same relationship with a black tie as my husband: worn only when you are forced to because you're in the wedding party.
On the subject of weddings, Kurt and I once attended one in Washington D.C. where black tie would have probably been admired. The bride wore Vera Wang and the reception was on the grounds of Georgetown University. We split a cab with another wedding invitee for the trip from our rooms at the Hilton to the ceremony at Georgetown.
The fellow with whom we shared the cab wasn't in a tuxedo, but looked quite expensive none-the-less. He wore a bow tie, a fringed silk scarf, and a long black dress coat. With three of us crammed in the backseat, it wasn't logical to try to ignore one another, so instead we struck up a conversation.
His name was Tarek and his parents hailed from Turkey. Like us, he met the bridge and groom through college connections. Then he asked my husband what he did for a living.
"Um, we have a dairy farm." My husband wasn't embarrassed to admit his occupation, it's just that chances were very great that we were the only dairy farmers in attendance at this D.C. wedding.
Surprisingly, though, Tarek's face lit up. "No kidding. My grandfather owns a dairy farm back in Turkey." Who would have guessed it? The rest of the ride to Georgetown was occupied by a very pleasant conversation about breeds, milking practices, rations, and industry standards.
Back to the invitation. "Every time I see someone from Ave Maria Academy in a tuxedo, I like the school a little less," my husband said. I told him I thought he could hold his own at the gala. You never know which other elegantly attired gentleman might have connections to the dairy field.
And he did hold his own, quite well I might add. We attended the gala and both felt at ease in our finery as we perused the silent auction items and sipped our wine. Dinner was a fancy affair that included salad with cubed watermelon, chicken covered with mango salsa, and tri-colored potatoes. Yes, tri-colored potatoes. Mine were of the Yukon gold and baby red variety. Kurt, I noticed, left his black potato on his plate untouched. Looking around, so did many of the other guests.
When the live auction started, the first item up for bid was a quarter of beef from a local farm. Kurt and I smiled at each other-this was right up our alley. But when that was followed by an autographed football that sold for $1,100, the Ave Maria VIP privileges that went for multiple thousands of dollars, and the cruise that sold for over $6,000, I very carefully avoided eye contact with the auctioneer, lest he mistake my interest for a bid.
After we left, I asked Kurt if he thought the price of the gala ticket had been worth the money. "Actually," he admitted, "I'm still hungry." A fancy dinner won't fill a farm boy, so we stopped at McDonald's on the way home.
Who knows, if Lily ends up at Ave Maria Academy, maybe the children of some of those black tie-wearing gentlemen will be in her class. Maybe her class can take a field trip to our farm. And on the permission slip, maybe it will say: barn boots admired, and yes, required.
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