I’d like to talk about my boyfriend in this post, but I promise I’ll try and skip the gooey stuff. I’m going to call him A, just because it makes it feel more like a spy movie. Anyway, A rides horses, and he’s pretty good from what I’ve seen. He plays polo, and you have to have a great deal of control over a horse to be able to play a sport like that, right? Right.
But he also recently started riding the broncos at the rodeo where he lives. Which is pretty awesome, I think. I mean—what girl hasn’t fantasized about
But anyway...basically what happens is every Friday he gets decked out in his plaid shirt, cowboy hat, boots and chaps and then rides a bucking bronco. He has to stay on said bucking bronco for eight seconds to qualify for placement. Then he and the horse are scored—him for overall technique, and the horse for strength and agility.
Like I said, I find this to be pretty cool, and I was really excited when he first told me he had signed up. But now I’m not so sure. Maybe I should explain.
Yesterday, he called me after he competed and he more or less said he ate it. He only stayed on for four seconds, and he came down on his head. Um, ouch? And he complained that he did something to his shoulder, and his ribs…So I started having an internal panic attack, since it apparently had not occurred to me until that moment how dangerous bronco riding could be. So I really wanted to launch into a diatribe about how I didn’t realize how dangerous this was, and please be careful, use protection, blah blah blah…but he just seemed so output that I couldn’t.
A: Well, I only got about three hours of sleep last night, I was half-falling asleep on the drive up…
Me: !!
A: So I stopped and got some of those five hour energy shots and downed them, so I felt sort of sick. And I lost my fucking hat while I was riding, so I didn’t even have any protection when I fell.
Me: Well, would a cowboy hat really have offered that much protection, anyway?
A: A little, it has a harder top. But I talked to the guy there, and he said that if I gave him my number he would let me practice before the next time.
Me: Well that’s good.
A: Yeah… *sigh* I don’t know, tonight just hasn’t been a good night for me.
Me: *laughs* Well, you’ll practice and then you’ll get it next time.
A: Yeah, I guess.
Me: I know you will! You know why?
A: *silence*
Me: I will tell you why. Because you’re a great horseback rider, and a great boyfriend, and you have a really cute butt, and people with cute butts always get what they want.
A: Well, you have a pretty cute butt too.
Me: *laughs again* Yeah?
A: Yeah.
Me: Well, regardess of our butts, you’re going to do it next time, I know it, and then I can tell all my friends about it.
A: *chuckles* You tell them all about your cowboy boyfriend?
Me: Oh yeah, I totally brag about you all the time.
A: Yeah? I bet all your friends are jealous.
Me: Oh, definitely. Even the boys are like, ‘damn, I wish I had a sexy boyfriend like that.”
He laughed at that, and said it was funny, so maybe I made him feel a little better. I just think that I’m really bad at know the right things to say. But I should stop bitching and moaning, as my dad would say. And I have to admit, I'm really proud of him, although I don't think I'll tell him that, just because that sounds a little too chick flicky for my tastes.
Random Fact: I have an obsession with all things sequin, glittery, and sparkly.
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