Aunt Carole Goes Horseracing for Cinco de Mayo

Aunt Carole was proud of the way the last year worked out. She felt she really was back on track and bonding with Grandmother nicely. After all the mishaps over the years, and her whirlwind of a romance in Europe that ended as a financial disaster, disappointing Grandmother, who was her matriarch and benefactor, was not a topic she wanted to consider.

It really was not her fault; the dashing playboy from the old country of Transylvania turned out to be a money-sucking vampire. Who could have known he was a proven scoundrel who prowled the French Riviera in search of glamorous single women of a certain age? Who would have thought a generous, gorgeous, and very stylish glamor icon, who was willing to spend almost any amount of hard cash to show others a good time, would become a habitual problem?

Even after Grandmother hired a private detective and Aunt Carole came back in economic disgrace and social media humiliation, the unforgettable socialite felt she was now coming into a new era of respectability.

The trouble with the federal and local law enforcement was almost over, and even though she was technically restricted in her movements and not legally able to leave Collier County, Aunt Carole felt as though her checkered past was moving away in the rear-view mirror almost as fast as her former fiancé’s convertible sports car.

Ever since her wildly popular Big Game party—with the designer marijuana brownies—that Grandmother still did not know about—the old specter of the Santa Claus suit bank robbery, the exploding dye pack under the Christmas tree with the FBI was fading fast. The bouncer trouble with the Spring Break and the local dance floor that was not big enough for her was another past sunset, but a new and hopeful avenue of opportunity was now rising on the now favorite granddaughter’s horizon.

The next items on Aunt Carole’s social agenda for the Florida enclave of fun and fortune that will forever be Marco Island were two festive dates that could not possibly escape the calendar without a major celebration to honor both events.

Firstly, on the upcoming schedule was the Kentucky Derby. For Aunt Carole, this yearly party ticks all of the boxes. As a fashionista of the highest caliber, and as a person who never knew a stranger, the idea of dressing to the nines and going to a huge party with beautiful horses, fun food, and specialty cocktails was almost too good to be true.

Secondly was the holiday that was rising in popularity almost as fast as the occasion when a flare gun went off accidentally and flew into a fire truck at one of Grandmother’s Fourth of July fireworks exhibitions.

In the present day, Cinco de Mayo is undisputedly a time to celebrate everything Mexican. This must include colorful attire—but formal, because of the Kentucky Derby traditions—and drinks that would be a tribute to both American Southern style and the traditions south of the border.

Food, drinks, and fashion were all at the top of Aunt Carole’s agenda for fun, so after carefully consulting grandmother and receiving her approval to reserve one of the largest venues on the island, everyone in the huge crowd of friends and family was more than excited for the drama to begin.

Almost all families everywhere have a Black Sheep or someone who usually is on the receiving end of whispers or secret texts, but with Aunt Carole, arching eyebrows are always the prerequisite for any invitation from the quirky and outrageous outlaw of a relative.

Because the Kentucky Derby day was inflexible as a weekend fixture, and because Cinco de Mayo was falling on midweek, the double party extravaganza was set for the first Saturday in May.

Because Aunt Carole was a fastidious planner, and a whiz with ordering and buying on her phone—especially when Grandmother was not watching—the details for the upcoming event were almost overwhelming—almost, but not quite.

Costumes were necessary. Gentlemen were required to dress in coat and tie and a contest was encouraged for the most outrageous color combinations. Ladies were to wear hats and gloves—a tradition to honor Grandmother in her youth—and for the women, a contest for the highest heels.

When the highly anticipated horse racing party of Cinco de Mayo finally arrived, the venue adjacent to the golf course was packed. All of the colorful costumes were indeed flamboyant and outrageous, and watching the women of the highest heel contest wobble as they walked over the groomed grass did require a mint julep for the girls to steady their nerves and the men to hide their smiles.

Tables of food were groaning under the weight of every Mexican delicacy, but an overwhelming favorite was a bean dip with a tangy hot sauce that no one could stop eating.

For drinks, the classic mint julep was demanding refills because of a tasty mint from a health food farm.

When the horse racing finally began, a huge Jumbotron was showing the Kentucky Derby, but suddenly another type of racing began when all of the guests began to feel the combination of the “tangy” Mexican bean dip and the special mint in the mint juleps all at once.

Unlike the racetrack at the Kentucky Derby, the golf course venue could not accommodate all of Aunt Carole’s racers at the same time. In fact, no venue could have had enough restrooms for the consequences of the “tangy” Mexican hot sauce bean dip that the vendor called “creeper” in intensity, or the “special mint” that Aunt Carole did not know was a highly effective and quick-acting laxative.