Southern Comfort

Polished belt buckles and boots,
Collared shirts and floral skirts;
Hell, even the preacher had a new cowboy hat.

I saw her step onto the longest aisle.
Red bouquet to match her Chevy.
Magnificent; just like the night we met.

I saw her there swinging on the rodeo gate.
Tossing her long curly hair back.
Waving that bright red ten gallon hat
Makin’ such a hoot an’ hollerin’.

I knew she was meant to be mine.

I walked on over to her, trying to contain my nervousness.
Put my boot up on the fence, crossed my arms on the top rung and said the only thing I could think of.

“Well hi thar' purty lady.”

Her smile could have lit a firecracker.
My heart sputtered like a chainsaw on the first pull.

The music began. All eyes were on her.
That aisle would never end.

Eight months of NASCAR races, bull ridin’, comparin, pick ups and gun collections.
Our love was like fried chicken; good every night but especially with a cold beer.

I’ll never forget our first date. Those cows didn’t know what hit em’.
The look on her face when that farmer fired his gun was just perfect.

I proposed at the Daytona 500.
Nothin’ says romancin’ like havin’ “Loretta…Will You Marry Me” flash across the
Jumbo Tron in letters bigger than a John Deer tractor.

Her smile was sweeter than any tea north or south of the Mason Dixon.


By God, people ask me if that was the best county fair of my life. Well, I say...

I do.