This is how the fun always starts with us.
Saturday night, after spending the day trying to keep my younger brothers from losing their minds (my parents are out of town and my teenaged brothers are sometimes not really 100% trustworthy), I made it back to my apartment to try to find something (anything!) to wear. Usually I would throw on a sundress (my latest outfit of choice) but I decided that I wanted to ride the mechanical bull--totally negating any skirts.
Well, darnit.
Open up the closet only to realize that I have a mound of dirty laundry about as tall as a professonial bull rider where I quickly realize I've tossed my best blue jeans, my favorite capris, and all of my gauchos. Half of my nice sundresses are there also, since it seems I haven't done laundry since Bill Clinton was claiming he had not had sex with "that woman."
Finally I see that up on my overhead shelf I have a pair of Daisy Duke shorts that I bought when I was in high school (a million and some years ago). I'm looking at a night with my cats if I can't find something to wear (read: I was pretty desperate) so I drag them down, say a prayer, and yank them up my caboose.
Ok--for your info they fit just fine. I've gained a little weight since senior year, but I'm healthier now than I used to be and most of my mass is muscle--honestly! However...I'm a grown woman now and that means I have things I didn't have in high school. Like cellulite masses clumped on the back of my thighs. Yeck. I'm out of options though, so I pray that all the guys will catch me from the front or side and that it will be too dark/they will be too drunk to notice that I look like a commercial for liposuction from behind. Throw on my Texas Longhorns t-shirt (HookEmHorns!) and off I go.
Secondsister invited her friend Gorgeous. Between us we look like a bad joke...you know, the ones that start "So a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walked into a bar...." We look pretty good. We have plans to have some fun.
"You gonna ride the bull?" SecondSister chides. She normally would, but her back is giving her some trouble today (convenient excuse!) so she can't.
"Ok!" I say. Check that thing off my list.
I pay the guy $10 (he works on tips) and toss my sandals. Then, like a pro, I mount the mechanical bull and prepare for a ride.
*Here is where I put my disclaimer. I've been riding mechanical bulls for about three years now. I like to see how long I can stay on without being thrown and I prefer to have no-stops-pulled when it comes to how the guy runs the machine. However, being female, I can not escape this particular bull-operator's fancy for making you look hellaciously suggestive. I'm just looking to ride, he wants you to look like you're about to drop your top for the bar. Yuck.
The ride starts with the usual "Vibrating Bull" where the operator shakes it back and forth. I casually scratch my forehead with my middle finger. This is not why I paid him $10. He continues with the slow up-and-down of the bull. I yawn. I'm not playing this game. The bull operator is now tired of me not playing along. He spins the bull around and promptly throws me off.
I'm slightly ticked. I mean, if he'd done the bucking that he does for the guys, I could've stayed on. Spinning is harder to hold on because he spins you one direction and then the other--because he wants you off.
Whatever. I smile, tip SecondSister's hat to him and put my shoes back on.
Now they're playing the Cha-Cha slide on the dance floor. I go running. I love to dance. Any dance. I love to two-step but that's hard to do if you're not in the mood to be molested by guys you don't know. So--SecondSister and I just hit all of the line dances we know (and I sometimes screw up the ones I don't). Unfortunately, tonight her back hurts enough that dancing is out. So she sends me and Gorgeous to the floor.
I start dancing. Come on--the Cha-Cha slide is about as difficult as making toast. They GIVE you the directions.
Gorgeous refuses to dance. I don't care. She goes running, I keep dancing.
Then I look over and who should I see next to me but SecondSister. I want to hug her. Talk about friendship! I know her back is going to be killing her in the morning, make a mental note to buy her painkillers, and we dance the song through.
The whole night comes to a head though when we find a table and take a seat. I'm sitting in such a way that my legs look pretty good (casually hiding my cellulite and showing just the runner's muscle I've been working so hard to get). I only know that this worked because several cowboys came by and sat at the table next to us. I looked over just in time to watch one of them take a long appreciative look at my legs. He didn't bother with my top half--his eyes started on my shorts then from shorts to knee, from knee to ankle, back up to knee, then back up to shorts. He nodded, smiled, and looked away without ever acknowledging me. It was as if he said to himself, "Huh. Nice legs." and went on with his night.
It made my night.
SecondSister and I left soon after and headed to one of the 24 hour pancake houses where we giggled and contemplated the decade we've been friends. It was a great night.
Chalk one more up to the check list!
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