Closet Cowgirl??

I recently took a trip to visit Daughter #1 and her family. Leaving The Mr. and my three youngest at home, I hit the dusty trail. Okay, it wasn't exactly dusty; it was, in fact, raining - and then snowing - the whole way. But the depressing weather is not what concerned me. I have bigger issues to deal with.

When I travel alone I love to crank up the radio and sing along. The more familiar I am with the song, the louder I sing - and the faster I drive. You know what I'm talking about. I normally have my car radio set to a local station that plays soft rock/pop, and that's what I was singing along to as I started on my five-hour journey. After about an hour I realized this station was getting fuzzy, and starting to grate on my nerves. As I fiddled with the dial to find another station, imagine my surprise - not to mention disappointment - when I realized the only station I could pick up in this remote area was a country station!

Now, I have nothing against country music (or western folk, for that matter), it's just that I've never been part of that crowd and, to be honest, never had a desire to be. I grew up in a small town where the high school students sorted themselves into the usual groups: stoners, cowboys, honor students, jocks, etc. Since I had no desire to fit in with the first two groups, and no talent to fit in with the last two, it seemed natural that I got involved in the only thing that was left - student leadership. But I digress. What I'm trying to say is that I've pretty much stuck to that mold, never experiencing much out of my comfort zone - including country music. Back to my story...

As I continued my travels, I listened to one country song after another, all the while thinking I was just "putting up" with this kind of music until I could receive a different radio signal. Well, at one point I happened to notice that my thumbs were tapping along to the beat on the steering wheel. (I ignored that, assuming I had some kind of twitch.) A few moments later I realized my shoulders were swaying. What was that about? After all, I don't like county music. As I checked the speedometer, I realized I was going WAY to fast. Huh?? That only happens when I really like the song I'm listening to. What was that song? Something about three rounds with Jose Cuervo. (And, no, I don't condone this particular kind of behavior, but it really did have a fun beat.) Well, as the next couple of hours passed I tried to suppress my prejudice. I decided I kind of liked country music. Kind of. I listened to one song after another getting more and more into it, until at one point I caught myself singing at the top of my lungs, "...straw hats and old dirty hankies..." What? How did I even know those words? I was really getting worried.

Luckily, the signal for this station was starting to break up, and I found another one. Oh, good, it was something I'm comfortable with. As if to prove something to myself, I energetically sang along to "The Boys in the Bright White Sports Car", followed by "Mambo Number Five" and "Hey There, Delilah". I was really getting into it. And then, as a sort of special tribute to my high school roots, I belted out every single word to "I Will Survive!" Phew! I was back to normal. I knew it was just a temporary setback.

I'm not saying that I'll never listen to country music again. I probably will. But if The Mr. thinks I'm gonna let him get that cowboy hat and pair of boots he's been wanting for the last 20 years, he can think again!

Dixie