Since I wasn’t able to go to Prince Harry’s polo match in Greenwich, I decided to slum it and go to a non-royal one.
Since I’m already très high-class, I didn’t have to do much in preparation besides go on a late night shopping spree for fancy food. I already have a sun hat and appropriate polo dressby Richard Gere’s standards.
Although, I think I was excluded from the VIP tent because I was channeling Julia Roberts a la prostitute. It’s fine, I never want to sit with that lunatic George Costanza anyway.
Does not look fun
Fashion aside, one of the highlights of the day was getting lost in a really bad part of Greenwich, CT – and by “really bad,” I mean dripping in diamonds. We ended up driving through some horse farm thinking it was the polo field, and discovered wonderland. The 30-foot garden gnome was cool, but the 43-foot dog made out of flowers was fate.
At first it just looked like a big mountain of flowers and then as we drove around it, it took shape. The shape of a dog. This in itself is weird, but not that weird. What is that weird is that the the next night I was sitting home flipping through an old issue of New York Magazine, and what do I see? The flower dog! I don’t know what it means, but it means something.
In a bizarre twist of fate…
Apparently it’s called “Puppy” and was named “artwork of the decade.” I feel so cultured now.
“Puppy” is well-traveled
“Today it sits on his 53-acre estate in Greenwich, Connecticut where it costs a reported $75,000 a year to maintain. Obviously the flowers die with the Connecticut frosts, which is a shame, but there is the whole rebirth in the spring thing. Each spring ten men work for twelve days replanting the tens of thousands of annual flowers that form Puppy.” – Rando dog site
Gloomy day in the English country-side
The actual “sport of kings” is really pretty boring – as I assume most kingly things are – except when the horses escape from their 1-inch-high barrier and charge into the crowd. Note to the women who wheeled their grandmother onto the field and almost got trampled: leave grams at home.
Then they played some Bruno Mars to get us amped up to stomp the divots!
All in all it was fun – we got drunk off champagne, ate figs, kicked some grass, tried to spot Gatsby (what Gatsby?)
There he is
And got our photo in the paper (thanks to moi).