P.L. Parker

P.L. Parker

Thursday, September 9, 2010

In Search of My Soulmate -Bachelor No. 4

The Cowboy Ladies Man

Every once in awhile, you meet a guy that causes your heart to flutter, your knees to shake and your female parts to charge up and head for the finish line.
That was the cowboy. He was one of those guys who aged early, lots of curly silver hair, blue blue eyes and that weathered look from being out in the sun too much. And funny. I loved his funny sense of humor. From the onset, I was a little concerned about the overindulgence in drinking, but I liked a cocktail once in awhile so I forced my anxiety into the back of my mind.
“Meet me at Shorty’s,” he said over the phone. “I’ll be there about 9.”
I flew about the room, finding the perfect outfit, took a quick shower, spent extra time on my hair and makeup and I was ready. Short drive to the bar and, nervous, I entered.
I spotted him at the bar, perched beneath a rather inebriated female. He caught my eye, smiled and…I was hooked again.
“Who’s this?” She was still plunked on his lap, a drunken grin on her heavily made-up face.
“Aw, nobody,” he said. “Just tripped and fell into my lap.”
She tripped and fell into your lap?
He pushed her away and she staggered off in search of a new victim.
“Wanna go hunting this weekend?”
Besides being a cowboy, he liked to fish and hunt anything that moved, any season of the year.
“O…kay,” I agreed somewhat reluctantly. “Where to this time?”
“Up near Cambridge. My aunt’s fixing breakfast and then we’re all going out.”
Another female entwined her arms around his neck.
“Who’s that?” Sheesh, this was getting ridiculous!
He gave her a hug, kissed her cheek and patted her butt. “Just an old friend.”
An old friend?
Four o’clock comes early. A huge crowd gathered at his aunt’s place. Looked like the annual meeting for Hillbilly High.
A woman squealed and ran for the cowboy, hugging him and planting kisses all over his face. “Where’ve you been?”
Cowboy had the decency to at least look embarrassed. He turned to me. “This is my girlfriend,” he said, jiggling my arm.
Her face grew confused, stormy. “Since when?”
“Uh,” he stammered. “For awhile.”
“Eat shit,” she growled, stomping away.
His aunt was a gracious hostess. I sat down at the table and she slapped down a turkey platter-sized plate of sunny-side-up eggs, rashers of bacon and sausage, a mountain of hash brown potatoes and a pile of toast. I, of course, assumed it was for the whole table. Nooooooo – it was my plate. First, let me preface this. Eggs to me should be cooked until they are so dead, they couldn’t move if they tried. But a plate full of sunny-side-up eggs? All for me? My stomach rolled. But my mama taught me good manners. I picked up the fork and forced down a bite, pretending to myself that it wasn’t really the nastiest thing I’d ever had in my mouth. Each chew rendered the eggs even slimier in my mouth. ACCCKKKKK!!!
The forest beckoned. About the time we left the rest of the group, I noticed he’d only packed a hunting bow.
“Shouldn’t we have a gun?”
He looked at me like I’d grown antlers. “For bow hunting?”
“We’re bow hunting?” Out here in the wilds where there are bears and wolves and all kinds of man-eating creatures—with nothing but a bow?
“Well, yeah,” he said. “It’s bow season.”
“You didn’t tell me that last night.”
“I thought you were smart enough to figure it out.”
When I was six, I was cornered by a big cinnamon bear in Yellowstone Park. Since that time, I’ve lived in fear that somewhere, someday, a bear would show up to finish the deal. For that reason, camping to me is the nearest motel from the family site and I rarely go further than ten feet beyond the campground. Not my style.
Huddled behind him for protection, we headed out. About an hour later, we came across a deep brushy gully-- one we needed to cross.
I noticed movement across the way. A huge black bear was tearing bark from a dying pine tree. I froze. There he was--the hideous nemesis of my worst nightmares. Huge and lumbering, it hadn’t spotted us yet as it clawed the tree, ripping off strips.
Catching our scent, he whirled, darting into the brush of the very gully we had to cross.
“Come on,” cowboy said, pulling my arm. “We need to get to the other side.”
“Not on your life,” I gasped. “That…that thing is down there.”
He laughed. “He’s more scared of you than you are of him.”
“I seriously doubt it.”
But being the idiot that I can be sometimes, I let him lead me down into the deep dark recesses, the sky obscured by the overhead limbs blocking the sun. A small game trail wove its way through the bushes, just wide enough to squeeze through. My heart was beating in my throat, teeth chattering, knees quaking. This was such a freakin' bad idea!
Something big crashed through the brush, headed right for us! By the sounds, it was big. The bear! I knew it was the bear!
Cowboy grimaced. “Maybe we should’ve brought a gun.”
No shit, Sherlock!
The pounding was almost upon us. I tripped falling backwards, dragging the cowboy down on top of me. Maybe the bear would eat him first and leave me alone!
A trophy sized elk, snorting in terror, flew over us, landed and raced up the side, Shocked, I could only stare.
Cowboy struggled to stand, stumbling after the elk. I crawled after him, refusing to be left alone in this hell, praying I could reach safety and see my children again.
He never shot the elk and I didn’t care. Numerous women friends and a drunken car crash later, I finally accepted the fact that the cowboy was a dead-end street. He was never going to change and women were a dime a dozen.


Mary Ricksen said...

Thank God it wasn't the bear. I hate hunting myself.
Who could shoot Bambi?

P.L. Parker said...

I grew up in a hunting family but I've never had the urge. I feel like you do. Couldn't kill something so beautiful. Couldn't kill anything for that matter. I have to pretend meat grows on trees just to be able to eat it.

Carolyn Matkowsky said...

Wow, Patsy, you sure do have the stories to tell. I'm glad too that it wasn't the bear and that your cowboy didn't shoot the elk. I hate hunting too. You have had some crazy experiences with men. I love reading your exploits. I'm glad you got rid of this cowboy.

P.L. Parker said...

Thanks, Carolyn, yes, until I met my husband, "if I didn't have bad luck, I'd have no luck at all." So to speak. LOL