Lust
In 1991, two perfect strangers locked eyes across the crowded Silver Slipper Saloon, and a randy fuse was lit. After hours of grinding on the dance floor, Ken spun a going-off-to-war story, proposing to love Val “til dawn do us part.” His earnest pleas were gently declined when she discovered deployment was merely business training in Toronto.
Greed
All aboard the cocktail train. Chugga-chugga whoo-whoo! Pre-game before events to save your sanity and bank account, or long lineups, and bottom barrel brew at top shelf prices will catapult your caboose off the rails. Hit the hooch early, then shift your gear to coast. Urban cowgirls are born to be wild, but only until 10 pm.
Gluttony
Fries and shine! From sun-up to shuteye, fried food is a Stampede staple. Nothing temporarily beats a hangover like a greasy bacon n’ egger for breakfast, washed down with a bucket of mini donuts.
Sloth
Strategically sandwich your outings with time off in between, as back-to-back events will age you like sour milk. Middle days are reserved for serial napping and binge-watching Bridgerton.
Wrath
Ice cold beer may be good for what ‘ales’ you, but dehydration and high-noon heat can take its Montezuma’s toll. It’s a mystery how assloads of fluids evaporate after you’ve drank all day, yet you haven’t hit a porta potty since noon.
Envy
Gone are the Daisy Dukes and bosom-baring push up bras of our 20’s. Those rocket bodied tub-tarts slinging booze to middle aged gropers deserve every dollar tucked in their G-string. We’ll be over here mourning our BMI in sturdy sports bras and spanxed up ‘jorts’.
Pride
Women in their 50’s are still considered a hot commodity, even outside of Florida. Kickin’ up your heels with a group of well-dressed Panthers garnishes attention. Stampede is an endurance sport, not a sprint. The Sisters are sponsored by Gatorade and B12, but more importantly, we train year-round!
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