Hey there, cowboy

Last Saturday I completed a rite of passage that is only experienced by persons who are determined to spin and twirl in style on the country-western dance floor. Yes, I have finally purchased a pair of cowboy boots (to which my mother said "Oh great, now you'll have something to wear when it snows" ... *sigh*, obviously I am not actually her child).

Carol's Western Wear, the recommended outlet for boots and other related paraphernalia (really its sole purpose is boots *wink*), has been Maryland's leading dealer of the only acceptable things to come out of Alabama since 1962. It was charming- except for the "Yay Department of Homeland Security is fabulous!" shirts that instantly smack your attention upon entering the store (gayness added by blog author).

After finding the perfect pair of pumps- *cough*, I mean, burly man boots (yaaaay!!! *claps*)- in black cherry size 10.5, and leaning over my new babies and welcoming them into my world (the shop assistant gave me the strangest look when I stroked them and whispered hoarsely "My preciousssssssss" - weird), I was ready to check out.

BUT WAIT - there was already some checking out that was a foot (*wink again*, love these pedestrian references **wink again again**). My friend and I had stumbled upon a young black guy dolled up in very trendy metrosexual-meets-Mississippi gear, complete with boots, jacket, and cap all in complimenting dark grey, black, and white colors. Amazing smile, friendly disposition, and hopefully gay.

After a short attempt at flirting, my friend and I left Carol's with a slight regret that we had not saved a horse and ridden the cowboy behind us in the checkout line. In a fit of madness, obviously due to sniffing the leather cleaner while in the store, I stormed back into the Boot Palace to fetch the cutie's phone number for my dear friend (something I would never do for myself, unless I had actually been drinking the leather cleaner).

Fearless and uninhibited by asking a question that would definitely get you whipped in the Bible Belt, I began my hunt for digits and potential embarrassment.

"Hi there. Yeah ... Um, I'm not really sure if this is your thing, but my friend is very shy and he kinda wants to have your phone number."

Huge grin (awkward or flattered???).

"Yeah um ... so he wants your number ..." (scanning face fervently) "... but uh, I don't know if that's how you roll so ... um ........." *cough*

Missi-Metro responds: "Oh, haha ... well, you see, about 4 or 5 years ago-------------"

In the span of a few nanoseconds I had already completed his thought with a million hypotheticals::: "----I used to be in the closet." or "----I had a near-death experience that made me realize that penis is hot." or "----my heart was broken by this queeny bitch and I've been looking for a soul mate ever since."

Instead, it was "----I started going to church and was saved and all ...."

Me: "Ah, I see. Well, you know, you can be saved and be gay all at the same time."

*uncomfortable laughing* "Haha well *random words of little importance as I had already given up*" .... blah blah blah basically he keeps his donkey parked in the stable where it can't (or won't?) do any man-bucking and thus he is dead to me *spit Jack-style*.

A very interesting response, wouldn't you say??? It's like asking "Hey there, sir, do you like chicken sandwiches?" and getting the answer of "Well I started eating tofu a while back." Notice that the question goes mysteriously unanswered ...

The only shame I experienced, since apparently I don't have much at all, was returning to the car to inform my red-faced friend that Mr. Poser- ahem, I mean Mr. Random Cowboy Man, had rejected his request on account of a religious experience.

My only conclusion on this ambiguous man is this: obviously he's never done any proper riding while in stirrups.