Cowboy Appeal
Here's a little secret about me: cowboys are my weakness.I'm not talking about dimestore cowboys, either. I'm talking about a good ol' boy in a hat and straight leg jeans that fit really well in the seat. I'm talking about the guy with dust on his leather cowboy boots and a grin on his face. Cowboys are a dying breed. They just don't make them the same way anymore. Nowadays, cowboys are likely to be wearing a Guess? shirt over their Levis.
A cowboy is a wonderful thing. First of all, he can charm a preacher into a whore house, he's that good. His smile is open and infectious. He is a friend to any and all and can be counted on to deliver.
But, let's get one thing straight. I'm not talking about those "cowboys" who don't know which end of a horse to feed. I'm talking about the ones who ride rodeo, work on a ranch, and dance like they own the place. Cowboys, by their very definition, are supremely comfortable in their skin. They work hard, drink hard, and play hard, but at essence are just good honest guys.
I fell hard for a cowboy once. It was so easy. He was a team-roping, bull-riding, force of nature. And, eventually, he ran out of charm and broke my heart. But, a cute ass in a pair of faded jeans and boots still can catch my eye. But, you know what they say about once bitten, twice shy?
Not long after my romance with Prince Charming began, and things were still very new, we were talking one evening and he dropped a bomb on me. "Oh, yeah," he said, "I used to ride bulls."
Scared the ever lovin' crap out of me, right there. But, I cowboy-ed up and am ever so thankful. I roped me a reformed cowboy!
