Young lady, you and your friend look very nice, all dressed up in what appears to be your Sunday best.” I spoke those words to a girl and her friend as we stood in line at my coffee place this morning. “But ladies, I’ve got to ask both of you a question. “What’s with the cowboy boots? I don’t mean to appear disrespectful, but I don’t associate cowboy boots with your Sunday finest.” “Well, she replied, Julie and I are graduating high school in a little while, and we made a promise to each other a long time ago that we would graduate with our boots on. You’ve heard about cowboys being buried with their boots on; well, we’re gonna graduate with ours on.” I congratulated them, told them I wished them the best and I admired their spirit.
My order was ready, and I moved on to a table to read the paper and nurse my coffee. The two cowgirls got their order and ended up sitting at a table not far from where I was sitting. Very shortly after they did such, two young boys came in and went and sat with them at their table. I could not help but overhear the conversation between one of the girls and one of the guys.
I heard him say to her, “Come on, go with me tonight. I guarantee you will have a good time.” The young lady shook her head, not up and down, but side-to-side and said, “no.” He repeated his request a second and a third time, almost pleading one last time. “Come on, go with me.” “No, no, I told you, I am not going with you and that is final, so quit asking me.”
As I walked past their table to leave, I thought to myself, “Young man, that little gal just took those cowboy boots of hers and stomped all over your heart, but, at your young age, you better get used to it, ‘cause it won’t be the last time.” I can attest to that.
You know, cowboys don’t get lucky, all the time.
May 28, 2011