While the guys were golfing in St Andrews, there was shopping to be done. If I were a fan of using alliteration in my writing, I would say that St Andrews is simply adorable, so consider it said. The University of St Andrews is at the heart of the town, and it was graduation time while we were there, which elevated the charming level.

The town was a hub of activity, but Dacia (my daughter-in-law) and I managed to find a cute spot for lunch. It’s a good thing we got seated before noon, because a line quickly formed as we ate our salads. Are you aware of the reputation of Scottish food?  I’ll just say that you don’t go there for the cuisine. One can only eat so much haggis, and for me that was very little. I felt obligated to try it – I was in Scotland, after all, but one bite was enough. Sheep internal organs mixed with fillers to disguise what you are eating was not for me. We decided to have salads with grilled chicken for a change.

When we finished eating we made sure to use the facilities (i.e. toilet) before leaving the restaurant. It can be challenging to find a toilet over there, and a lot of places want you to pay. Therefore, we tried never to miss an opportunity when it presented itself. And this one made quite the presentation.

Here in the states, we have lots of room, especially the further west you go. But in Europe, space is at a premium. That is why this toilet is nothing short of brilliant. The toilet stall itself was about twice the size of a phone booth, and when I sat down, I was greeted by my reflection in a mirror (from the shoulders up). On the lower section of the mirror were written the words, “You’re looking good!” It was efficient use of space and a reassuring statement. I could make sure I didn’t have spinach in my teeth; therefore, literally doing two things at once. When I stood up, I had only to turn around to wash my hands on the sink that was part of the top of the toilet tank. There was an air dryer to the right of it. The perfect marriage of efficiency and weirdness. I loved it.

We were ready to visit some shops and spy out the graduates as they walked down the street with beaming faces.

I loved watching the graduates in their caps and gowns and sometimes kilts. Not to be confused with not wearing pants or kilts, of course. Everyone was decent! It wasn’t like that famous Braveheart scene which we can all recall.

Speaking of that scene, I had the best time with a couple, probably near retirement age, who owned a sweet little shop in St Andrews. I found the people in Scotland very friendly but none more than this couple. At first, I didn’t recognize him as the owner. He looked like he was getting ready to stock a shelf as he had a box of goods in his hand. I turned a corner, and we ended up facing each other. I offered that he should go first as he was getting paid to be there and I was merely shopping.

“Oh, nay,” he said. “I don’t get paid to work here.”

“Then you must be the owner,” I replied as he made his way behind the counter.

As I put my purchases on the counter, I figured his wife was the lady sitting on a stool in the corner. She was smiling at me and listening to the conversation. This is where Braveheart comes in. There is much souvenir merchandise devoted to that famous mooning scene on the battlefront of the epic movie. I had seen it on aprons, mugs, and at that moment emblazoned on the stack of coasters that was sitting by the cash register. Men in kilts mooning aka Braveheart is quite an industry.

I picked up a coaster and said, “But you must make a fortune from the residuals from these!”

At this point his wife broke into laughter and he smiled that friendly Scottish smile that without a word acknowledged that what I said was true – he had a secret life as a kilt model. He thanked me for my business, and after a few more laughs and comments, we were on our way.

The goods on display for sale had me reminding myself that the month was June. Evidently they don’t have much summer in Scotland.

I wasn’t in Orlando anymore!

After returning home, my old friend, Diane, reminded me that I had put in some time wearing a kilt. I had completely forgotten my time as part of a Job’s Daughters (teenage girls’ part of Masonic organization) drill team. I had been the captain for a couple years, and I loved it. The captain barked out the commands and guided the team through maneuvers in competitions and also in a few parades. I’m including a picture here to end this post. Yep, we weren’t exactly holding to the letter of the Scottish kilt law, if there is such a thing, but we did have a good time.

15-year-old me on my knees in the front with my co-captain, Gayle, to my left. Diane on front row far right by our coach. I spent a lot of wonderful time with these girls. Sweet memories.