Miscelaney

This past weekend many related to the Bronson-Elliott clan (including yours truly) gathered at Chez Gentry in Tucson, AZ, to celebrate “Kitten’s” 50th birthday, which was more or less a surprise. Party revelers hailed as far as Oklahoma, Maryland, and even the UAE.

The desert sun didn’t disappoint, nor did the endless batches of margaritas, which whirled and churned faithfully away in the double-margarita machine. Kitten’s delight for the unexpected festivities spiked when five rough-and-tumble cowboys busted through the party gates, guns-a-blazing, looking suspiciously like Wyatt, Virgil and Morgan Earp, Doc Holiday, and some cowpoke’s name I don’t recall (Wild Bill Hickock, maybe?). Yes indeedy, these wild shooters rode up from Tombstone for the evening, just to help Kitten (the biggest Tombstone fan ever known to man) celebrate in dusty, old western, Arizona style.

After a trial and a near hangin, Kitten was begrudgingly pardoned and Doc Holiday proceeded to dazzle guests with his card trickery at the gaming table. Fortunately for the guests, Doc wasn’t serious about collecting on his winnings. The Earps kept the bar brawlin to a minimum and mixed with the other guests. They also lent an eager hand (with the rest of the male party goers) when Kitten’s stripper exercise pole was unwrapped and needed installing (by the way, the best line of the evening was when Kitten’s nephew encouraged her son “to go help your pappy put your mammy’s stripper pole together”).

A good time had by all, guests trickled back to their (hotel) rooms throughout the wee hours of the morning (unless you were lucky enough to have your Rents hosting the party which case you simply staggered down the hall). The whiskey eventually had to be hidden in order to get the cowboys back on their horses and on the way home to Tombstone, a city (much like this family) that is just too dang though to die (or go to bed early).