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Getting My Get-Up-And-Go To Go With My Get-Up
by Beth Boswell Jacks
This cowgirl from Mississippi, USADEEPSOUTH editor Beth Jacks, has found another use for the fringe. Here's what happens when the horse won't go.My cowboy husband is a Mega-Type-A personality. I mean, he is the Type-A prototype -- the blueprint, the model, the Original Thang. He can't lounge, chill, or rest his bones. That's just not in his little book on How To Conquer The World. He's a man on the go. Constantly.
He has always badgered me to be on the go with him. To encourage me, he bought me things. Cowgirl things. Do I have fringe? My dears, I have more fringe than a Victorian lampshade. Enough fringe makes you a cowgirl, right?
Wrong. Fringe, phooey.
See, G-Man bought fringed leather jackets for me. He bought long, Marlboro-looking canvas coats with fringe. He bought cowgirl shirts with lacy fringe and cowgirl hats with fringy-looking, feathery headbands. None of it worked. The horses didn't understand this fringe made me a cowgirl. I'm sure they thought I was just some chicken-livered woman with shaky things on her bod. (I'm talking about the fringe, buster.)
We had a horse once that I could ride without getting nauseated. His name was Rex, and he was the King of the Out-to-Pasture Equines (KOPE). He was gentle and sweet. If I tugged on the reins, he'd stand there for a few seconds, giving me time to change my mind or figure out if the direction I tugged was really the direction I wanted to go. If I screamed (Helllllllp!") he'd stop dead in his tracks. A real sweetheart, that animal.
Just when I was getting used to Rex and my bottom was growing accustomed to extended rides, G-Man decided to sell this gentleman horse and buy a steed for me that was a little more spirited. Nosirree. I was having none of it.
This is where the hub and I parted extracurricular ways. I was tired of trying to keep up with him in the great outdoors. He sold Rex and bought Buddy, and I haven't climbed in the saddle since.
But I just couldn't stand to see that marvelous wardrobe go to waste. I now have the loveliest den curtains you've ever seen. Whipped them up myself. Western-looking fabric with leather trim, and -- you got it -- more fringe than a Texas bordello.
Frankly, I think the fringe belongs right there. There's no question that compared to the back of a horse, my recliner is truly a much nicer spot to giddy-up.
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