So being the good ol' gal that I was trying to be I talked one of my boyfriend's friends who I knew could get down with his old country self to teach me to dance. In those days on Main in Stillwater there was this bar that had a pretty good dance floor and opened early in the afternoon. So I borrowed a pair of sh*t kickers from a friend, grabbed an 18 pack for my guy friend (the bar was one in which you had to bring your own booze), and off we went for an afternoon of mostly frustration for him and a really good time for me. By the time The Weed opened that evening I had my two step down, and I could throw in a little swing to boot.
My boyfriend picked me up, we went to The Weed, and in my mind we pretty much looked like Debra Winger and John Travolta from Urban Cowboy. In reality, I wore a bra. My boyfriend was short. And well, that night and most of our relationship he wasn't what you would call prince charming. I guess I should have taken the hint when I had to get his friend to teach me how to country dance as he "didn't have time." But I didn't. And although I gave him the dump long ago, I choose to remember that night, the night I learned how to appreciate two step, country music, and good old boys, as the night we embodied Bud and Sissy. We were young, hot, and newly in love, swinging around the dance floor like the stars that Debra and John were.
~~Mrs. McGillicutty
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