Last weekend John and I were invited to the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo with friends Harold and Gale Green. The trip had been planned for two months. Thursday night, John came down with a nasty case of the crud. Without the energy to roll over in bed, he certainly couldn’t road trip with the Greens. And with the Greens, energy is necessary.

Harold and Gale are expert tour guides maneuvering each corner of every exhibit before and after the main attraction, not stopping to even breathe until every drop of wine is drained in the wee morning hours, the next morning. If there is the slightest hesitation, the mere hint of fatique, Harold sings ‘every party has a pooper’ over and over and over… And I’m usually the party pooper. I like my sleep.

With John sick, I debated should I stay or should I go? Of course with John sick, he was by default the party pooper, right?Short debate. Rather than sit around all weekend in a germy house, I tagged along with the Greens and their extended family including in-laws, out-laws and children. Every family needs a fifth wheel.

Plus, there was no way I was gonna miss it.  I was super excited to wear my cute western shirt. The print is vintage cowboy. The snaps are pearl. The stitching is red. So what if I didn’t own a Stetson?

The young guy working behind the rodeo concession stand thought my shirt was cute too…

Me- One beer, please.

Me– Yes.

Guy– Your shirt has a cowboy on it with horse feet. (Reaching toward my shirt, he poked the cowboy printed on the seam of my shirt pocket—the seam split the cowboy making him appear part man, part horse. The cowboy he touched just happened to be positioned on my boob…)

Me– Really? Did you just touch my boob?

Guy– I touched your shirt. (wide-smiling)

Me– Uh-huh. Step away from the cowgirl shirt, concession boy… 

What’s a little sexual harassment at the rodeo? And did he really say horse feet?

Grace Grits and Gardening

Musical Pairing:

This Ain’t My First Rodeo, Vern Gosdin