"Come out with me for one beer." This is the plea my friend made to me. How did one beer turn into me sitting on top of a mechanical bull, terrified because of my impending doom, while cursing my friend?
A beer sounded good. Getting out of my stuffy apartment sounded better. I needed a change of scenery. Besides, I rarely see my friends outside of a classroom or work environment. Even if it was just a drink and an hour, it was better than staring at the t.v. or--god forbid--cleaning.
We went, we drank, we laughed. Lots. Somewhere in the conversation, the local country bar was mentioned, which led to me squealing about my love of linedancing. My friend got a gleam in his eye. "Let's go now! I want to ride the mechanical bull!" He slammed his glass on the bar with resolution and stood up. "Let's go!"
The country bar was smoky. Twangy guitars filled the air and people crowded the dance floor to pound out steps to the beat of the song. My friends paid no attention to any of that. Instead, we marched resolutely to the back of the bar where the mechanical bull lived. My friend eyed it up. "I'm going to look like a jackass." We told him he couldn't back down--it was his idea. "Oh I'm not."
With his long legs, he easily mounted the bull. It started slowly and he clung on. The bull operator saw that he could be good so he sped it up. Fast. Three seconds later, our friend didn't stand a chance and as he was flung to the floor, his sideline cheering squad doubled over in laughter. He left the ring with a huge grin on his face. "Oh, you two gotta do it now."
There was no way in hell. I am not a dumb girl. Big girl plus anything mechanical equals entertainment for all but me. No way. I shook my head at him. Undeterred he turned to our other friend. She wasn't as strong. She agreed in three seconds flat. The wuss. However she had one condition: "Krissy has to do it, too." In a shorter time than it took me to down a drink, my friends had turned on me. Cohort support, my ass. I was suddenly faced with two eager faces, grinning at me like they were higher than Scooby and Shaggy. I couldn't take the pressure. "FIIIIIIINE. But if I die, I'm going to blame it completely on you two."
"I'm willing to take that risk." This was said as my other friend vaulted her way onto the bull and looked amazing and graceful on the bull like she had been been birthed on a mechanical bull. And when she finally fell off? She fell of gracefully. It was like mechanical bull poetry. How was I going to compete with that?!?
Before I could enter the ring I was forced to sign a release form. I couldn't even read it because there were words like "not liable" and "legal action" and "hurt" and "you could die" on the page. I somehow managed to scribble my name and got into the ring, where my new challenge was to get onto the bull.
An equation: short legs + tall bull = boundless entertainment for those watching me. After attempting to mount it twice, the people sitting around the ring who weren't paying attention to me suddenly realized "hey, this is far better than anything going on anywhere around the bar. Let's watch the short, fat girl!!" The mechanical operator had to boost me onto the damn thing. My friends cheered as I clutched the strap. Before the operator walked off I asked him for some advice. He chuckled. "Hold on tight."
Well, thanks.
In the seconds before the bull began bucking, I suddenly realized that I couldn't move. I was paralyzed, clutching the strap and wondering how the fuck I got up there. My stomach knotted up. Holy mother of GOD, I am going to die on this thing. I'm going to kill my friends. This isn't going to be fun! How could it be? Oh God, it's moving. AHHH! It's dipping and I'm hurtling towards my death and AHHHHHBABYJESUSSS!
As it dipped and bucked I screamed and held on for my life. At the same time, I tried waving my arm around, attempting to look sexy like the other girls had. Scared and sexy aren't exactly traits that go together. (I think they're actually polar opposites, really.) I quickly realized that I would die quicker if I waved my hand and looked sexy. So instead I opted to clutch onto the bull with both hands, white-knuckled. Sexy, be damned.
Each time the bull bowed down I cursed and thought I would die until I realized HEY! It's kinda like a roller coaster. Except with less safety features! And then suddenly it sped up. Oh hell no. I screamed again and called out to the baby Jesus. My grip tightened and my knees buckled a little from digging into the sides so hard. The guys around the ring cheered. My friends laughed their heads off. And my leg started to slip and I was suddenly riding the bull at an odd angle. "HANG ON TIGHTER!" my personal cheerleaders chanted. It was easy for them to say--they didn't have one leg dangling vicariously close to the undercarriage of a surprisingly girthy bull.
As quickly as it began, it was over for this cowgirl. The bull whirled and off I fell, tossed to the bouncy ground. I landed and rolled on my back and immediately began laughing. Did that really just happen? When I returned to my friends, my legs felt wobbly and I felt light-headed as they high-fived me. Did I seriously just ride the bull? For real? And? Is this how skydivers and bungee jumpers feel after defying death? Because this? It felt kind of good.
It was only supposed to be one drink. Two drinks max. All I wanted were a couple of laughs and some decent conversation. What I ended up with were bragging rights and a pretty cool-looking bruise on my inner calf. I'll take those souvenirs over a night in any time.
Ciao, dahling!