Toby Keith and the Dance of the Seven Veils.

I discovered what I am calling my "Judgment Wrinkle." So, in order to stave off progression, I've been trying very hard for the past month or so to stay away from my judgment expression. (Hopefully as a bonus I might make some more friends?) Some of my activities have proven difficult to keep my resolve, but I feel like, for the most part, I've been successful.

My Friday night was spent at a country bar out further than the airport. To say that I felt like a fish out of water would be cliche, but accurate. It wasn't the mullets under the cowboy hats. It wasn't the worked hands, boots, or tight Levi's. It was the combination of all of the above with a mechanical bull and alcohol, topped off with the loudest music I have ever heard (and I go to a lot of concerts).

We got there early to have a line dance lesson, and learned a fabulous little dance called the Tush Push. Unfortunately, knowing a single, easy line dance does not qualify one as being boy-scoutedly prepared for a night of country-flavored fun.

At one point, Shara and I were sitting watching a couple dance. She was wearing a silk mini dress, and he was wearing a wife beater and baggy pants. The man was very into his lady friend. Thankfully, the girl was too drunk to be embarrassed when, while dancing closely, her man made her bare assed to the rest of the bar. OOPS! She was ok, for she proceeded to take his handkerchief and do an awkward seduction dance. I would compare it to the dance of the seven veils, except that it was very unsexy. Her partner, however, seemed very pleased, which should be all that matters, except that we were present, so we now have a say. The best part about watching this couple was Shara noting that the woman had a very "Lucille 2" quality. Which was absolutely true.


But I have to say that the highlight of the evening took place while Toby Keith (that's right, country music sensation Toby Keith) was in the corner signing autographs. I was doing an horrible imitation of a two step with Ryan when all of a sudden I was whisked away by some 45 year old man with 60 grit sandpaper for skin and a huge, huge hat. He was obviously very good friends with Jack, Jim and Bud, and as I was trying to figure out how to get out of dancing with him, he started flirting with me.


"Is he your friend?"
"Yes."
"IS HE YOUR FRIEND?"
"Yes he's my friend."
"You're gorgeous."
"Um, thanks?"
"Are you scared?"
"no."
"ARE YOU SCARED?"
"still not scared."
"Why don't you smile?"

(scared does not accurately describe what was going through my mind, but apparently, my new attempt at not having a judgment expression is interpreted by middle aged drunk men as fear.)

He proceeded to shoot pick up lines at me, which I really had no idea how to respond to. Finally, he said, "Do you like Toby Keith?" Not wanting to be misconstrued as friendly or flirty, I told the truth, "No."
"Why not?"
"I'm not really that into country, and he's too outspokenly republican."

At this, sand-paper hands seemed to be affronted and, suffice it to say, the pick-up lines stopped. I could tell that it took all of his manners not to jilt me on the dance floor--almost as much effort as it took me to not raise my eyebrows.

**Shout out to Xtina for the pic. Because, Heaven knows, I wouldn't take Toby's picture.