Boots With the Spurs

April 5, 2010

Do you remember a few days ago when I told you I had a really amusing story? You know, I hinted around it trying to catch your attention, then got all distracted... right? Remember? No? ummm

Wow! Look at that!

You're still reading? Well you are not easily distracted, are you? 🙂 I like that I can keep your attention.

just be you

just be you

Well, this story takes place at the gym very early one day this past week, in the locker room, to be specific. (ladies, cover your eyes please). I was getting ready to haul off to work and looking frantically for my socks, which appeared to be not packed in my gym bag. I get ready the night before I go to the gym so I can stumble out the door in the dark without having to wake up, and occasionally will miss something. Like socks. And I hate to wear real shoes without socks. weird. and forget about wearing pre-worn socks.  ick.

Anyhoo... I couldn't find my socks this particular morning, so I dumped the contents of said gym bag out onto the bench in the locker room to see if they might be hiding in the bottom; you know how you do that... Here's the good part. (if there really is a good part, anyway) This is the same bag that I used to transport my sheriff 'get-up' for the melodrama ((oh good lord, he's talking about the melodrama again)) and, even though I thought I had cleared the costume out, there were still a couple of pieces still in there.

Picture me in the locker room (ewwww, picture something else quick!), the manly men locker room, emptying the gym bag and having my spurs fall out on the bench. Not really a comfortable time for anyone there. How do you explain spurs in your gym bag?  (no really, in case that ever happens again, I'd like to know).  Well in this particular case, I just looked at the guy next to me and said: "I'm a cowboy".

There was a time, very recently, in fact, when I would have been so completely embarrassed that I might never have returned to the gym.  And now I don't even know why that would have been embarrassing to me.  Instead of running away, I now have a great story to tell you and I'm pretty sure the other people in the gym have retold the story also (their version might make me out to be creepier than my version).  I could do worse than to be known as 'the guy with the spurs'.

I have decided (and want you to also) that I am going to welcome those opportunities to be embarrassed. or proud. or funny.  or spontaneous (hey, that's not an emotion).  I will embrace the different emotions that do spring out of me;  joy, terror (yes terror), love, sadness, craziness and certainly happiness.  I'm going to throw a rope on those feelings, climb on, dig in the spurs and ride them out!  Because I am a cowboy...


HA!  You thought I'd play Bon Jovi, didn't you!


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