Or how this jurl rocked the rodeo last night. I must make the disappointing confession that I did not purchase a fabulous pink cowboy hat like I previously vowed to do before hitting Husband's rodeo work party. I just couldn't get myself to a place that had cowboy hats of any variety during the week, plus Husband (and Momma Jurl) poo-pooed the hat idea. I was saddened by my bare head as we got ready to head out and even more saddened because I suspected that my abandonment of the delicious theme dress accoutrement was given up precisely because it was poo-pooed.
But, then I discovered the Mesquite Rodeo Gift Shop. Before we made our way to the suite we were to be stranded in the rest of the night, I insisted we detour to the gift shop for my hat. Turns out I actually needed a red one because of my outfit choice and, lucky me, there was an adorable red, straw cowboy hat for $14.00. You cant' beat that with a cowpoke. I plucked it off the shelf, plopped it on my head, and dared Husband to mock my country awesomeness. Husband gave me his best platypus face, but caved in when I told him how cheap it was.
Uh, and yeah, I kicked ass in my red hat. I felt like Debra Winger in Urban Cowboy, but with a much higher I.Q., better taste in clothes, and way bigger boobies. Once I had my red cowboy hat, my walk turned into a sashay. One of Husband's partners even pronounced me Best Dressed.
We had to take an elevator to the suite floor and as we stepped off into the "bar/lounge area" I had a flash back to my Aunt Clemmie's double wide trailer in Arkansas. Think lots of fake mauve and blue flowers, wildflower prints lining the walls in cheap gold frames, and plastic grapes spilling out of a wicker cornucopia. All they needed was a huge landscape scene lit from behind with a water wheel that looked like it was actually moving and I would have tried to find the homemade corn bread.
Once in the suite we chit chatted then grabbed some bar-b-q (and wine) settling back to watch the rodeo pretty quickly. To my surprise all of the cowboys wore flak jackets to protect them from a horn through the chest and a couple even wore helmets. I gotta Say, that was kind of disappointing cause I need a little risk in my rodeo. Then I saw some poor schlub's legs almost get trampled and I forgave the flak jackets.
At the end of the evening a real life cowboy came and got us for the "bucking chute" tour. We had to sign waivers before they took us behind the chute (little cage/stall where the bull is locked up awaiting a cowboy) then we stood waiting for a fool with a death wish to climb on top of the angry ass bull. It was fascinating. And stinky.
I was impressed that the rodeo crowd was so generous to the one gay cowboy. I assume he was gay because he wore pink and turquoise chaps. I guess he could have just been metro.
All things considered (and smelled) it was a fun night. Husband and I actually talked about things other than our kids and finances. I had a moment of self-esteem weakness when I accidentally caught my reflection in the mirror while seated. Yikes. I resisted the urge to compare myself to the Michelin Man and, instead, looked at how beautiful my makeup and hair looked. Oh, and how my hat was hat-tastic.
It's amazing how attitude can make all the difference. And not just my attitude toward myself. If I'm being honest, I have to tell that there was a time I would have been a little snooty about the rodeo and all it entails (probably because I needed something to make me feel better about myself). You know, like how some people are snotty about music or bowling or whatever. But last night, I admired these people seemingly so very different from me for those differences and for our similarities. I appreciated the rodeo clowns trying to entertain the crowd, the cowboys putting their bones at risk, and the cowgirls in their sequined, neon, spandex, performing gymnastics on their horses.
I'm finding everything is bathed in a sunny glow when your heart is open and illuminated by joy. Don't worry, I'm sure it won't last.
Sam agreed to showcase my hat for me.