Table for One, Please. Party's name: Sore Thumb

Recall that my recent trip to Nebraska included an occasion to "go out." By this, I mean that I got to go out on the town, sans kids and spouse. I borrowed a fun, sexy top from Sahm, wore my new dark wash jeans, my red wedges and put on purple eyeshadow aplenty as instructed by the girl in DesMoines at the Sephora store (it looks good, I swear - back me up here, Sahm). I stopped short of the fake eyelashes, which are fun, but I was in Nebraska for Pete's sake. So I go out feelin all fine and slightly vampish. The first fine drinking establishment was like those small-town bars where people over 45 hang out if they are white trash. Yikes. All women present were sporting jeans and oversized tee-shirts, some maybe with makeup on. I quickly went from feeling vampish to uncomfortable. We left after one drink.

We hit the next place, known to be newly "happenin" in town. It had a better mix of ages represented, that is for sure. But I was still much more turned out than the majority of the gals in the room. Sigh. I had forgotten where I was, apparently, or wildly underestimated the young going-out set in Nebraska. Maybe both.

See, in my DesMoines going-out experience just weeks before, I was adequately dressed in the same kind of outfit. I was average in that bar crowd. Passable, midline, nice-looking, on par. I was nowhere near the va-voom in the room: 20-somethings with tiny skirts and glitzy tops with carefully coifed messy-vamp hairdos. I am never hoping to compete with those little sisters, but was pleased that I could pass in the younger-set crowd and did not have the "Mom" look goin on. I was golden. In Nebraksa I was the ho with the eye makeup.

So, lesson for the day, dear readers: Research the culture when venturing out into the wild. And when going out in small-town Nebraska, pack jeans and a tee shirt.