14th
Best. Story. Ever.
Picture this: I’m at the Sydney Royal Easter Show walking around the livestock yards when a horse and its rider pull up beside me. I think nothing of it until the horse starts nudging me and snorting at me the way horses sometimes do. I try stepping to the side, but the horse follows me. I cast a few questioning glances at the rider, who was quite handsome and arrayed in a sharp green riding jacket adorned with many pins and medals. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, and in the most charming British accent. “It seems my horse finds you very beautiful.” At this point I started blushing like crazy and worrying there might be chocolate milk on my face. “Would you like a ride?” he asked, extending his hand in a most gentlemanly way. I contemplated this offer for a moment, but worried that I would look foolish trying to hoist myself up into the saddle, or that my flip-flops would fall off, or that I would miss the rodeo which I was on my way to at the time. I politely declined and he rode off gallantly into the sunset. It was perhaps the single greatest moment of my life.
Until about a half hour later, when I saw him again. Only this time, he was down on the field where the rodeo was to take place, still proudly riding his lovely white stallion. He kicked off the evening events with a special Easter message from Her Majesty, his godmother, the Queen. It was all I could do to keep myself from standing on my seat and screaming “I WOULD LOVE TO RIDE YOUR HORSE!”
