I attend a parish here in Eugene and a member named Rosemary, a darling English born elderly woman, constantly forgets who I am. Nearly every Sunday I show up in my kilt, she compliments my attire, and without fail says the following...


"If I hadn't been born English, I would love to have been born Scottish."

Followed by this story.

As a young girl in WWII she witnessed the Scottish Regiment coming over the hill to fight along side the English. The English joked about Scotland sending girls to the battle. Among the murmurings were questions about what was under the kilts. Once the soldiers were lined along the street, English on one side, Scots on the other, the Scottish official ordered his men to "Pick daisies" whereupon the regiment turned 'round and bent over to reveal that they were in fact wearing shorts underneath.

Then she and I have a good laugh. No matter how many times she tells me that story, I will listen and respond the same way.