Urban Cowboy

So this morning on the Today Show (my daily source of all things newsworthy) they had the performers from “Urban Cowboy”, the new Broadway musical, sing, dance, and generally cavort about in their down-home country way. These were jean-donning, boot wearing, booty-shakin’ kind of people (or at least they were playing it on tv.) They were down-home, dirty, and I loved it. Whereas before I thought the she she me “Looking For My Cowboy” was merely a cute saying, I’m living it.

I want my cowboy, and I want him now.

I’ll even expand upon that to include common tenents in human nature, in the pursue and be pursued, cat and mouse, hard-to-get arena. It’s the appeal of the “Bad Boy,” and trust me, I’ve got it bad.

Right about now, I want a blue collar man with dirt under his fingernails a la Joe Millionaire (though would prefer a few additional brain cells.) I want a Harley-riding rebel with a devil-may-care attitude, throwing caution to the wind. I want a bad, bad boy who my parents would hate, who my friends would warn me about, and with whom I would buck society and ride away together in the sunset.

It’s human nature, it really is. Along with us wanting what we can’t have (a trait I’ve practically trademarked I’ve mastered it so well), we also want what’s not good for us. It’s why we’re listful over old boyfriends that we KNOW weren’t good [enough] for us, why we remember the good times and why we’re constantly wondering ‘what if.’ It’s why the grass is always greener, why everyone else’s relationship is inherently better than our own, and why, whether we say it or not, there’s always that ONE PERSON who you always wondered about, who, on the day of your wedding or the day of theirs, you wonder what ‘could’ve been’.

It’s the Bad Boy Syndrome, and so I’m calling all you Urban Cowboys to don your boots, your tightest faded blues, and give this little lady a call.

(Or, if you’re a CPA, I need you even more. My taxes are due.)

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