The Bull, The Horns, The Sexy Cowgirl

They tried to talk me out of riding the bull. First, when we were driving toward the cowboy bar. Then, again, when the bull’s first victim was flung ungracefully toward a pole.

It’s a good thing I didn’t see the really drunk girl do it till later in the night, as she immediately flipped forward and smashed her face into its side. And I happen to like my face, so that may have been a deal breaker.

Luckily for all of us, I didn’t see that until later in the evening. And the attempts to talk me out of it were unsuccessful. Which means I’m officially a bull ridin’ cowgirl. Yee haw, people.

Even better, though, after I rode the bull, we also convinced a very tipsy Relatively Dashing Roommate to also ride the bull.

He is about to look less Relatively Dashing.

See?

And then this happened:

And I was going to write more, but after that happens, there are really no words left. Am I right?

* * *

Care to ride the bull yourself? You can find it (as well as some country dancing) at The Stampede in Denver’s eastern suburbs. Bull rides cost $5 and many nights girls drink free.

Full disclosure: The Stampede let me hang out and ride the mechanical bull for free. But I would have done it anyway. And very soon after my ride, I pitched in a couple bucks to make Relatively Dashing Roommate’s ride possible. Because everyone should ride the bull. At least once.

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