Pina Coladas and Parkas

I was proclaiming my excitement on Facebook yesterday that:
A. We were invited to a New Year's Eve Party.
B. It was a themed party requiring "beachwear"
and
C. We had a babysitter.
So here we are all duded up in our tropical attire. (The babies had already gone to bed before we left.) I'm sure the Texans are probably thinking we walked out of the house as is, since I know of plenty of New Year's I've worn shorts. But you Coloradoans and Minnesotans know better. I actually wore my biggest coat (Jason refers to it as a "parka") and snow boots, then changed into my heels once there. (I guess Texans are the only ones who wear heels to the beach, since I was the only girl not in flip-flops. But at 5'2" even my flip-flops have heels, so I would have been wearing them no matter what.)
The party was super fun, and the hosts had hired bongo musicians who brought all kinds of instruments for everyone to play (think maracas, cow bells, and all kinds of drums). Alas, nobody went "McConaughey" with their bongos...the closest we got was when one of the girls almost lost her strapless dress in the hula-hoop contest. (And yes, Durangoans, they bought their hula-hoop from the Hula-Hoop Lady...always buying local.)
As we rang in the new year, Jason leaned over and said, "Well, here we are in another crazy place. It's 4 degrees outside, we're dressed like we're going to the beach, and people are banging on bongo drums."
Just another year for us Ingys.