I have a mind. I’m not just a piece of meat. I have feelings too.
Sugar and I were in a store in Hill City, South Dakota, in The Black Hills, last weekend. The store sells books about The American West. I bought one about Crazy Horse, whose monument is nearby. It has other items too. Sugar was looking at Native American jewelry. The salesclerk was not Native American nor was she from The American West. She told Sugar, who noted her Back East accent, that she was from Philadelphia.
Out of the blue, when I was not even talking to her, the Philadelphia lady asked me, “Do you ride horses? (pause) A lot?”
I proudly told her that I have been riding horses my whole life or at least since I was two years old. I expected her admiration. I figured she was thrilled to be in the presence of a genuine cowboy. (In my prior post, Miss Sugar’s Purse, I described my attire, including the manly shoulder bag).
Maybe she asked the question because of my hat and boots. It turns out that her focus was on checking out my Wrangler jeans as I innocently browsed the books.
“Man, are you bow-legged!” That is what she said. She then asked if spending too many hours in the saddle during my formative years caused my condition. I am certain that she meant it as a compliment. I took it as a compliment. Of course, Miss Sugar being there and all, the store clerk probably was too uncomfortable to come right out and compliment my rear.
The great thing about being delusional is that even if you are not actually on the beach, you can still enjoy it.
Here I am having coffee at our Cowboy Church, Ridin’ for the Brand, which meets in an indoor horse arena. Guess whose legs are the subject of this post? Hint: white hat. Maybe I am slightly bow-legged. Or it could just be the angle of the camera.