It is Saturday night and Dan and I have been out bar-hopping again. Well, at least our version. We went to a local restaurant which has a separate bar—desert bar that is. We decided for our Saturday night dinner date to have hot fudge cake for our meal.
When we are kids we want to be adults. As adults, sometimes we want to be and do act like kids. As an adult we are allowed to make these choices on occasion. We recently made another perhaps not so mature decision.
Our church had a series called Summer Play. One of the events was a very successful ‘Summer Shindig.’ There was cat fish, standard for any Southern event, home made ice cream, skillet cooked Southern succotash (chicken, sausage, taters, corn and more). For those who survived the events of the day, the evening offered line dancing.
Of course there were the old fashioned sack races, three legged races and so on. It was all great fun watching everyone enjoying themselves. Then I found myself in line for riding the mechanical bull. I quickly became the spectacle not the spectator.
I blame it on the triple digit temperature. I don’t know what Dan’s excuse was. With some difficulty (Linda Grace’s foot slipped through the platform) and assistance I mounted the bull. There wasn’t much riding to it. We were on and we were off. Just for your information, these saddles are polished down with several coats of ArmorAll.
There was ample padding for the fall. Many of the younger kids got just as big a kick out of bouncing on it as sliding off the bull. Well okay – some folks actually did ride well enough to make any cowpoke proud. I on the other hand, my bruises and pride are healing nicely thank you.
In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.