Caught! And a new phrase is born!

We all get caught, now and again, doing things that seem perfectly innocent (or maybe not so innocent) and we thought we could get by with it. It wouldn't take but a second, and yet.... You've been there--oh, yes you have!

Schlepping band merchandise to bluegrass festivals all over the South and Southwest for the Memphis-based Tennessee Gentlemen for 20 years or so, I learned many a great lesson: bluegrass fans are great, they tell the same 'lawnmower stories' each year when you see them again, they'll buy your albums if they like you, not all their checks clear the bank, they're very particular about which bands they come out of the Prevost to see, the menfolks on the festival grounds can repair absolutely anything that breaks on your car or truck, Mama-n-'em will invite the bands they love over to eat dinner at the motor home (and man, can she cook!), and when the festival is over, they're heading down the road to the festival that starts this coming weekend, never bothering to go back home first. Count on it!

Another thing I've learned to count on is getting caught. We were in a little town in northeast Oklahoma. Band members had their rooms at one of the small local motels, and I had mine. The band had played two shows on Friday, and here it was Saturday morning--early Saturday morning. Hardly anyone was up. Not a sound out of anyone. Nobody passing by my door. Nobody headed out for coffee. Nobody tuning up for the show in a few hours. It was quiet.

I had forgotten something I thought I needed from Black Bart, the Tahoe right there in the parking lot just in front of the door to my room. I sized up the situation, considering both what I needed and how very quiet it was. I decided to slip out the door right quick in my robe and houseshoes and make a break for the Tahoe and the item I needed.

Just as I was about to put my hand on the handle to the car door, I heard a door open a couple of doors down from my room. "Oh, shoot!" I thought, "I'm done here, for sure!" I was.

A sleepy-headed fellow named Mike, a Tennessee Gentleman and one of the finest banjo players anywhere in the country, spied me and said to his wife, "Oh, look, yonder's Betty in her Christmas clothes!" Oh, man! Too late! 'Mortified' doesn't express it! I hurriedly retrieved whatever it was that I thought I needed and rushed back inside, thoroughly embarrassed that I'd been caught.

Talking to Mike later, trying to explain myself, I learned that he said his family referred to the wonderful outfits they all hang around in all day on December 25, as their 'Christmas clothes'. What a wonderful new phrase--Christmas clothes!

I was caught for sure, but a new phrase which I love and use often, was born that day. Thanks, Mike!