I do not believe in Full Disclosure. Ever. Or so I thought.
I have also found that:
1) Karma exists and haunts me every day
2) I am probably the biggest hypocrite on the planet, and I just don't care anymore.
3) Some research is a good idea.
Let's get real. (I warned him of this post and he laughed)
I'm sure some of you have been to a rodeo at some point in your life. They are a wonderful, competitive display of horsemanship, camaraderie and athleticism. They serve as a tribute to our Western Heritage. Rodeos are a great way to teach the general public about age old ranching traditions with the exciting twist of professional sports.
If you have not seen a wild horse race, let me break it down for you (from my perspective):
A bunch of people (usually men) join teams of three. They are each assigned a haltered, untrained (wild) young horse to saddle and ride on a course (straight to the end of the arena/ around a race track.... whatever). One person holds the horse, one saddles it and one rides. The first one to cross the finish line wins.
It sounds simple enough, right?
In my honest opinion, most of the teams are made of what appears to be hillbillies with a few teeth and even less horse sense. They seem ill equipped to deal with colts, especially with a time limit. Horses are fragile flight animals and I believe that the majority of the wild horse contestants are not helping these animals by easing them into one of their first experiences with humans. If I had some doorknob with his hat yanked around his ears and a wad of chaw in his mouth trying to hang on to me and "tame" me, I would freak the fuck out. Oh wait, I've been to a country bar and that exact scenario went down. Guess what? I freaked the fuck out. And now look how full of venom I am??? See? Case in point. If I were a horse I would totally be a biter or a kicker... okay, both.
|Photo from thefencepost.com|
So, there I am, telling Brock about my feelings on the Wild Horse Race when he pipes up cheerfully, "I've done one of those! Back in the day...."
I almost vomited, as I was wed to him and pregnant with our first child. No take backs now.
I calmly hissed, "Let's pretend that this conversation never happened."
Shockingly, he failed to listen and began to loudly and exuberantly relive the glory days of his 80's hick youth.
I again gently requested that he shut his cake hole.
He kept talking.
I may have yelled that I was "dead fucking serious and you need to shut up NOW!" and waddled away, sobbing softly and angry with myself for not asking more questions.
The second epic fail happened just last Sunday.
We were at a stoplight, headed home from our birthday celebration for Thing 1. I looked over at a Jeep in the lane to our right. There was a blond girl in the seat. I felt a pang of yearning (not for the girl, but TO BE the girl).
I pointed at the Jeep and said, "I always wanted one of those."
Brock said "I had one! Back in the day...." Then it took him five blocks to try and describe the color, which I deduced was powder blue. Umhm.
I asked if he drove it wearing a tank top and cut off jean shorts to go with his mullet and mustache. I guessed right.
Then he told me about the many occasions that he drove it without the top, wearing that outfit. He would stay out late and would have to drive home, freezing cold and huddled behind the steering wheel going 30 MPH because he had forgotten a jacket. Then he showed me what it looked like and I took his picture (of course I did) and warned him that this little information would most likely make my blog.
|I laughed at him.... and cried for myself.|
And he said, "I'm a guy. We don't think like that."
(And I'm thinking, "So I have proof that guys don't use their brains...")
To drive the point home, he said, "The worst was driving with no top when it started to rain and you were huddled under an umbrella".
Good Lord. I have no words.
Note to all you single ladies. Make up a questionnaire for all "prospective" men to complete. Be specific. Have a back up plan.
Cats are nice.