Only at Derby will a woman my age and weight be asked in all seriousness to flash her tits.
Now, in defense of the men braving the infield in this weather, breasts of any sort are few and far between. I've seen half a dozen slip-n-slides optimistically arranged outside tents.
"If I don't get a girl on here by the last race, I'll slide on it," said Jake, who came here from Michigan.
So far today, I've been mooned by a drunk man who has "My Bachelor Party" written on his body. He also humped every woman in the crowd, tried it on one of the men, and attempted to make sweet love to my camera lens.
I've also seen three toilet runners - all of them men.
"This is my first Derby. I'm from Lexington," said a mud covered Jamie Kellerman. "I got up there to have fun. Somebody threw a can of beer at me - a full beer! That's alcohol abuse. I had to drink it. I also drank the cranberry juice. It's good for my liver!" While we talked, another man ran the gauntlet through a barage of beer cans and cheers.
Men are taking mudslides, women are mudwrestling (except when the police make them stop) and there's nonstop dancing outside the DJ tents.
So far, though, I haven't seen any of the legendary debauchery the infield is known for. I blame the Infield Club. It's smack in the middle of the infield, which breaks the other two parts into more manageable sections. The police and national guard are out in force. There aren't that many areas out of the watchful eye of authority, which means a lot less opportunity for shenanigans.
Photo credit Chris-Rachael Oseland.
