Kilted in Las Vegas - The Drunks Dig It

[S Mitchell]

Two weekends ago, my wife and I went to Las Vegas for our 20th wedding anniversary.

And, of course, I wore my kilt.



I wore it casually all day Sunday. I got some compliments and a couple of drunken high-fives. And a few different casino employees hawking their time-shares and show tickets used the kilt as an excuse chat before the hard sell.

But most folks payed no more attention than a second look, if even that.

The only negative remark was from an older woman (she sounded older; I didn't see her) behind me at the Bellagio. I heard her say, from what sounded like scooter height, "Oh, no. We don't wear skirts here." I didn't bother to turn and look at her.

The strangest encounter was in the mens room of one of the casinos. The restroom was mostly empty and I'd picked the farthest urinal. When I'd nearly finished my business, I heard slow footsteps walking towards me.

I finished and adjusted my aprons and my sporran and turned to find a well dressed, youngish, drunkish, touristy guy looking at me (in the eyes, mind you.) He stood half on his side of the partition and half on mine.

A little peeved by the lack of etiquette, I asked him, "What are you doing, Man?"

"So, you're a Scotsman," he answered. He sounded British but I couldn't really place his accent.

"No, I'm American." I said.

And he laughed like I'd told him the best joke ever and he turned to his own urinal while I left. I couldn't stay peeved. It was silliness.

Anyhow.

My wife and I had a great time, and my kilt, along with the drunks, barely factored into our weekend.