I'm not exactly what one would call a country girl. I don't like twangy music, don't own a truck, and have only ridden horses on those guided sort of tours where the horse just follows the one in front of it down a paved path. I think cowboy boots and large belt buckels look terribly uncomfortable, and what with those icky tight pants, I don't understand why cowboys think they have the corner on the Patriotic Man market.
Which is probably why I felt just a tad out of place at last night's Lehi Roundup. Turns out it's a family tradition on the hubby's side. I had managed to avoid it until now, but last night was my initiation.
This is an actual photo from the Lehi Roundup. I didn't take it as our camera is stuck in a box somewhere in what is left of our front room, so I snagged this one and the one below from the Lehi City webpage. I have a hard time understanding why an adult would voluteer for what must be horrid next-day whiplash, but then, I'm not really a rodeo sort of gal.
I'm not one of those nutty animal rights activist types-- I eat meat and I'm pretty sure I would wear leather if I could afford it, (and as long as it didn't have those bouncy tassle things on all of the seams), but a rodeo always seemed to be a needlessly cruel activity targeting innocent cattle. Expert on bovine activity I'm not, but I don't think they often buck around violently in the fields without some provocation.
Those around me at last night's rodeo learned of my sympathies for the poor fourlegged creatures when I insisted on cheering for the little steers who managed to avoid being roped. I also encouraged the one bull who stopped bucking mid-ride to hurry up and jump; after all, I can't imagine there's much of a market for non-bucking bulls on the rodeo circuit, and he's not exactly petting zoo material. Keep bucking, pal, I don't think they'll give you much of a pension.
The moment I really knew I was out of my element is represented below.
These lovely young ladies represent the Rodeo Royalty for the 2007 Lehi Roundup. They possess many, many talents that I don't-- most notably, wearing lots of sequins with style and flair.
I didn't even giggle at the sparkly chaps.
But then, that's because my intuitive husband began squeezing my hand in warning as soon as he saw the big hair.
Favorite quote of the night: "And now, ladies n' gentlemen, we have for you a real live, purebred Mexican fighting bull! That's right, a purebred Mexican fighting bull! This thing was born and bred straight out of Sao Paulo, Brazil..."