The Cowboy Story

You’ve been waiting all day, here’s some light reading to get you ready for bed:

Out of the glaring light of day, we walked into the dark, cabin-like atmosphere of the historic Museum Club off Route 66. The old wooden floorboards creaked and moaned beneath our weight as we crossed to the bar on our right. Opposite where we stood in the room sat lonely pool tables begging to be played. It was only around 7pm on a Thursday night. It was before the big rush.

            Our first focus was getting our hands on some cold, tasty beer. Animal heads stared down at us from their homes, mounted high on the old style wooden beams along the ceiling. Beers in hand, we headed to one of the small, unoccupied wooden booths along the wall. We sat, sipped our beers, and chatted as we waited for the dance lessons to begin. One quarter of a beer later, music began to play, and we headed out to join the other dancers on the floor. Line dancing lessons were starting, but we here for the country swing, which would start later. While in college, we had taken a ballroom dance class together for fun. We just wanted to dance no matter what style.

             The lessons were interesting, fun, and something different for us. We had worked up a sweat and a thirst so after the class, we went back to our booth to finish the rest of our beers. Much to our surprise, after a short break, everyone started to go back out to the dance floor where Karaoke began to pump from the speakers. We had so many offers to dance that we were struggling to keep up with them all. We definitely weren't in California anymore.

After much dancing, an annoying drunk guy in a green shirt (we dubbed him the "drunk, green shirt guy") approached us and wouldn’t go away. Both of us danced a few dances with him, but quickly tired of being abused, squeezed roughly, tossed into other couples on the floor, and spun nonstop till our beer threatened to make a reappearance. We declined the next few dances with him but he continued to keep walking back and forth in front of us, occasionally rubbing Virginia's foot that was hanging outside the booth crossed over her other knee. Each time he passed, he made flirtatious comments. Like so many other drunken guys, he couldn’t take a hint. Frankly, we were a little creeped out, and didn’t want to dance for fear that he would come by and snag one of us again. We even talked about leaving the club to get away as a last resort. Was this the end of our super fun girl’s night out? All hope was lost, almost... then, enter our cowboys.

            Just as we had given up hope and were wishing that some dashing gentlemen would come up and save us damsels in distress, two loud-mouthed, fun-loving cowboys from our lesson made their way to our booth and asked to sit down. The first was tall and had shoulder length blonde hair, he wore tight wrangler jeans, cowboy boots and hat. The second of the pair was dressed similar to his friend, but had cropped brown hair that curled slightly around his ears. We recognized them easily as regulars. They seemed to know everyone in the bar, and were so confident in their environment they could have owned the place. We gestured and they sat down, one on each side of us.

             “So, where are you ladies from?” The blonde asked.

            He had known we weren’t regulars as he had danced with Virginia earlier in the night. She had been so caught up in the fun new dance she just learned, laughing and thrilled to be spun around the floor. She had gasped out between breaths and giggles, "What dance is this?" To which he looked at her oddly and replied, "The two-step." She had blown our cover; he knew we weren’t locals after that question.

             His question to us then didn’t lead with the most original pick up line, but the men were fun and charming and seemed very respectful. We told them that we were from California and had road-tripped to Flagstaff to research a story we were writing. They were very interested, and they even suggested some great tips and places to visit while we were in town. We had a great time just sitting and talking with them. 'Green shirt guy' was still pacing and looking over at us from the back corner of the club, but we were no longer so creeped out. He was at least leaving us alone and we had better company with the cowboys.

            All four of us then went out to the dance floor; our cowboys actually knew how to dance, really, really well. They taught us the country two-step and other dances. They were complete gentlemen. It felt great to be able dance without getting groped or felt up. After much dancing we finally sat back down at our booth, and chatted and drank some more. These guys seemed to have the ‘tag team’ thing down.

             We continued to listen to the music while we sipped our refreshments and made conversation. The blonde, recommended a winery he liked in a shopping plaza called Tlaquepaque in Sedona. He suggested that being Californians we’d love the wine there. The men offered to buy us a beer, but we declined. We had a long night, and one of us still had to drive back to the hotel. They insisted, and eventually we came to a compromise, we would share a beer. While they left to go get our drink, we tried to figure out if the men were into ladies or each other. After all, they had been very respectful, and had not made a move on either of us like we were used to. Also, they danced so well, and were pretty tight with one another. We had to ask ourselves if this was some sort of broke back mountain thing. Finally, we decided they must be gay, which was great, because Kristina is married and Virginia is in a relationship. We didn’t mind one bit, we love the gays!

             When they returned with our beer we asked them what they did for a living, were they really cowboys or just pretend? We chatted a bit sharing fun facts about each other for awhile, and then the conversation somehow shifted to the topic of metro-sexuality. They claimed they were, but looking at their tough guy dress we had our doubts. They swore up and down that they were indeed cowboys with a ‘softer side’, but we were doubtful until finally the blonde convinced us.

 “We got pedicures today.”

We looked at each other, baffled. “Yea right.” Then we laughed, he almost had us.

 “We really did!” He demanded. “A friend of ours is going through cosmetology school, and she gave them to us.” He gestured to his friend, “Take off your boot and show them.”

“No. You do it.”

Okay, so they might have helped out a friend and let her do their toes, clean up their feet, and all the rest of the pedicure stuff, but that didn’t make them that metro.

             “Fine.” So the blonde rips his boot off to show his white athletic sock underneath and removes that too with a quick tug. Bare foot exposed he stuck his leg in the air and wiggled gold glittered, sparkling toes.

“We thought you were joking. You actually got pedicures!” We laughed hysterically.

“Told ya!” He looked so proud we had to laugh again. He looked over at his friend who was studying his beer intently. “Your turn. Come on, show ‘em.”

             “Hell no!”

Our new friend was persistent. “Oh, just do it.” We could see though, there was not a chance that his friend was going to convince him to do it. We tried to find out if the brunette’s toes were gold, silver, rainbow… still though, he wouldn’t tell.

Finally, tired of the back and forth between the men, and eager to see the mysterious pedicure paint job, Virginia turned her attention to the brunette at her side. If her ‘gay-dar’ was wrong, and he was interested in her as she had originally thought, only she could get that boot off! She summoned all of her female superpowers, pursed her lips into a slight pout, and widened her eyes a little bigger. With a sultry wiggle in her seat next to him she leaned over and asked.

“Can’t we just have a little peek?” She moved in closer. “I’d really, really like to see.” Then she looked up into his eyes and smiled coyly.

Without thought, the brunette reached down and ripped his boot and sock off. Virginia looked across the table at Kristina, asking in that wordless way that only females can communicate. That really worked? Now, there was no doubt, the men must be straight.

The brunette, lifted his foot in much the same way the blonde had earlier and with a wiggle of his toes exclaimed, “Mine are zebra stripped.”

Sure enough right in front of our eyes were manly, hairy toes that were painted with perfect black and white zebra striping! We gasped for breath between laughing, then applauded the brunette for his manliness and bravery for showing his toes.

The End.