Togas Infiltrate the Stepfords

I live very close to the Stepford Wives neighborhood.  Note that I don't live in the Stepford Wives neighborhood because I wouldn't pass the admittance test, which likely includes a barrage of questions about your Bunco hosting abilities, a prerequisite Lexus SUV, a weight limit of 100 pounds for women, and at least 2 kids with bonus points for each kid above 2.  Alas, I would fail, so I had to move into the apathetic neighborhood down the street whose only requirement is that you pay the homeowner dues. 

The neighborhood I live in is on a hill.  A large hill.  If I want to walk through my neighborhood, it's a lot of scaling the hill - steep inclines and declines.  It's not ideal for running, especially for beginners. Oh, who am I kidding, I don't run.  If I am feeling lazy, which I am a lot of the time, I choose to walk in the Stepford Wives neighborhood because it is flat.  Hey, at least I walk. 

In my estimation, the Stepford Wives neighborhood is modeled after some 1950s Norman Rockwell neighborhood despite being built in the 2000s.  The center of the neighborhood is a basketball court, a field, a playground, and a covered picnic area.  There is a road that circles the common area, and there are 5 cul-de-sacs that connect to the common area.  I'd guess there's about 150 houses.

The houses all have big porches and tend to have a mini Southern plantation feel.  They range from 1,900 sq ft - 2,700 sq ft.  Instead of street lights, they have lanterns along the side of the road.  It's rather cute - except they don't give a lot of light.  Eh, it's cute.

I have a love/hate relationship with the neighborhood.  My instinct is to hate it and everything it stands for just on principle.  On what principle?  The I'm Trying To Be Norman Rockwell on the Outside Even If I'm Amy Winehouse on the Inside Principle.  Or something like that.  But part of me likes walking through the neighborhood.  The steady stream of Lexus SUVs arriving home when I walk in the evenings, the suburban men washing their Lexus SUV windows with Windex in their khakis, the kids riding their bikes, the normalcy and steadiness that the neighborhood displays. 

The whole point of this post is that tonight I took a walk through the Stepford Wives neighborhood, and I encountered an interesting sight.  One of the houses was having a party - strobe lights, loud music (country, sigh), lots of little kids.  It might have been a block party or who really knows.  So, anyway, I see this guy walking away from the party dressed in 1) a cowboy hat and 2) a bright orange toga.  He was carrying a red plastic cup holding a likely alcoholic beverage, at least I presume.  No one in the front yard of the party house seemed to be wearing anything atypical. 

The cowboy hat and orange toga combination eludes me.  What kind of look was he going for? Bam Bam meets cowboy?  Was it a suburban dad fraternity initiation?  Male fashion rarely surprises me, but this outfit really threw me for a loop.  Had I been more brazen, I would have approached him and inquired.  Or snuck a picture because he was a sight to behold, even if it was a vodka-induced fashion decision.