My sad tale of whoa at the Rodeo

  Still a bit skeptical but nonetheless caught up in the excitement and Americana-feel of the event, I found myself, for the first time in its 64 year history, at the renowned local rodeo. As we entered the gates, I was pleased to see a large variety of food vendors including my friend, Brenda who, with her husband, Tuff, runs Kick-Ass Concessions and was more than happy to dish me up a saddle-size serving of fried dough! 

A penned Brahman bull stood calmly by, patiently willing to pose for pictures. "Are you going to do it?" my husband asked, well-aware of my penchant for pictures. "Nah," I muttered, "$10 per adult seems pretty steep." Sydney laughed. "First of all, you paid $7 for the fried dough that's going to disappear in a cloud of sugar dust in two seconds... " I vehemently interrupted, quickly listing all the virtues of my delicious snack. "Second," Sydney continued, "You have paid much more exorbitant prices to have your picture taken with racing pigs, snakes, sea lions, alligators, and a giraffe."

Our debate was interrupted by the Pledge of Allegiance...recited, then sang, and then followed by the National Anthem. I had powdered sugar all over my heart by the time we were through. Proud veteran that he is, Brad still became a little antsy as the devotion to our country looked like it was going to extend into a Lee Greenwood montage.  "I can't even see the flag," he complained as we said The Pledge to the back of the bleachers. "Use the one for sale in that vendor's tent," I advised. "Where?" Brad squinted. "There...next to the Confederate flag." Sydney spat out her water next to us and Brad had to take his hand off his heart to pound her back.

We navigated the cowboy-hat-wearing crowd  to get to our seats. It takes a bit for me to settle in as my Enochiophobia (I love big, tongue-twister-y words that make it seem like there is a rational scientific and medicinal explanation why I act like a lunatic in situations like these) has my heart racing and my flight response at Code Red. Because I'd (necessarily) dawdled in choosing my snack, we'd lost the chance at a prime, top-of-the-bleachers seat featuring a kinda-comfy backrest and NO ONE BEHIND ME. So I had to deal with 3-D stereo and audio coming at me from 360 degrees. I sat, ramrod-straight, like a prairie dog, mapping out all my exit strategies.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated.

It was a text from my work friend Lauren:  Settle down, crazy lady! The bulls are supposed to be the highlight of the show!

My face flamed red. Someone I KNEW saw me acting like a big ol' baby. I whipped my head around, trying to locate her in the audience. As I did, my gaze lighted on the smirking brunette next to me. The rowdy, smirking brunette next to me. The pain in the ass, rowdy, smirking brunette next to me. Lauren's sister. Who I had met ONCE. Over three years ago. And not in the most dignified and mature of venues. Oh no.

Mikayla

"I thought that was you," she laughed. I wiggled uncomfortably on the unforgiving metal bleacher seat. The Amy that Mikayla was encountering now was a far-cry from the Amy she met at an...um...intimate implement affair several years ago. Lauren didn't help with a follow-up, clarifying text:  "She texted me and said, "Who was the funny lady at your sex toy party? I think she's next to me at the rodeo." 

Oh my gosh. Is THAT my identifier? Funny lady at sex toy party? What about:  Amy Mosiman:  Philanthropist? Charitable? Benevolent? Articulate? Bold? Creative? Kind to animals and small children? No...instead I'm funny lady at sex toy party.

Fortunately, Mikayla's attention was quick to wander before she could clue Brad in on the behind-the-scenes summary of our salacious history. I can't completely recall but my husband may have been under the impression that I was at a Tupperware Party that evening. 

I'm not sure if I had more fun watching the rodeo action or watching Mikayla trying to get some action of her own. She somehow lured the 50/50 guy to her seat and coquettishly kept taking his tickets. I kept Lauren updated as I divided my attention from cowboys attempting to lasso calves while Mikayla attempted to ensnare a date. 

Amy:  Who flirts with the 50-50 guy? (3 guesses...they all start with your sister)

Lauren:  Single and lookin' to mingle!

Amy:  When he asked her if she wanted "an arm's length, " I held my breath, fearing she was going to ask if there was another option.

Lauren:  Which do you think would have been the better deal?

Amy:  Oh my.

The Mosimans left after The Flaming Whip. He was magnificent. I thought I was pretty skilled in swinging my school lanyard but I've got NOTHING on this guy. My only suggestion was that he END with the fiery whips which, admittedly, would be pretty tricky to do as they must plunge the arena into total darkness prior to the arrival of The Flaming Whip. We watched as mysterious plumes of dust arose from each set of ropes he used. "Hey...I smell baby powder," Sydney exclaimed. "The Flaming Whip..." remarked her father, "smoothest hands in the West."

We bid adios to Mikayla and began our journey home. As the sun set on my experience at the rodeo, all I could do was hope that this encounter would spur Mikayla to modify her original impression of me. Now, maybe instead of funny lady at sex party, I could be fun-loving, adventurous, and yet still somehow dignified lady at rodeo.

Yeah. You know that's a bunch of bull...