Have you ever wondered what really goes on in one of those hard-drinking, skirt-chasing country-western bars on a Saturday night? You know, one of those places where the parking lot is full of pickup trucks and inside the guys are riding mechanical bulls and all the gals are line-dancing? I mean, do lonely young men and women in cowboy hats and boots interact any differently than their counterparts in expensive suits and fancy dresses? And just where in the world do those country-western singers come up with all those great song titles and lyrics that make their music so popular?
Well, for some reason, these and other equally deep questions were galloping through my head the other night just as I was about to fall asleep. And the result was this rather strange dream I had about a good-looking young cowboy dressed up in a Roy Rogers outfit strolling up to a pretty young cowgirl who was the spitting image of Patsy Cline. She was seated all by herself at a corner table of a bar called Cotton-Eyed Joe’s and although it’s all pretty fuzzy to me right now, I do remember that a song entitled You Done Me Wrong And That Ain’t Right was playing softly on a juke box in the background, and I think their conversation went a little something like this:
“Ma’am,” said the cowboy to the cowgirl, “I’m feeling a little low-down tonight, and I’d sure like to buy you a drink, but If The Devil Danced In Empty Pockets, He’d Have A Ball In Mine.”
She looked up at him, forced a half-smile and said, “That’s okay, handsome, I’m Just Killing Time ‘Til This Heartache Kills Me. Why don’t you pull up a chair and Come On In Out Of The Pain.”
He gladly sat down beside the pretty lady with the sad eyes and politely removed his hat. “I couldn’t help noticing that you look a little like you got the Below The Mason-Dixon Line Blues, too,” he said.
“It’s just that Every Time I Try To Make My Mark, Someone Paints The Wall,” she explained. He nodded that he understood as she slowly looked up from her drink and added, “Sometimes I swear, I Don’t Know Whether To Kill Myself Or Go Bowling.”
“I know just how you feel,” he said sympathetically. “I guess it’s just one of those nights when Even The Man In The Moon Is Crying.” He looked down at his watch.
“What time is it?” she asked him.
“Ma’am,” he said, “it’s not even midnight yet, but I’m afraid I’m on Lonesome Standard Time. Would you care to dance?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “The last time I danced with a man, He Got The Rhythm And I Got The Blues.”
“I know right where you’re coming from,” he said. “When my woman left me, “She Got The Gold Mine And I Got The Shaft.”
“You know,” she said, “sometimes I think it’s just me. Maybe I Was Born With A Broken Heart?” A tear came to her eye. “A Little More Hurt Can’t Hurt Me,” she bravely added, “but Seven Days Of Crying Makes One Weak.”
“Ma’am,” he said, “please don’t think that way. You’re a very attractive woman, and to tell you the truth, I Want You Bad And That Ain’t Good.”
“Really?” she asked, obviously surprised and a little bit alarmed.
“I sure hope I haven’t said something inappropriate, Ma’am.”
“Oh, no, it’s not that,” she quickly said, “it’s just that I Don’t Want To Go Back To Heartbreak School Cause I’ve Already Earned My Degree in Misery.”
“I can certainly relate to that,” he said. “In fact, to tell you the truth, Ma’am, The Last Time My Ship Came In, I Was Waiting For The Train.”
“Maybe We’re Two Of A Kind, Working On A Full House?” she asked him.
“Ma’am,” he said, taking a deep breath, “it may be true that The Girls All Get Prettier At Closing Time, but I want you to believe me when I say I’m Not Just Another Walk-Away Joe.” She smiled and nodded her appreciation. “And Ma’am,” he added with his voice lowered, “right now “There Ain’t No Queen In My King-Sized Bed, and If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body, Would You Hold It Against Me?”
She looked lovingly over at his rugged John Wayne face and returned his warm and hopeful smile.
“Well,” she finally answered, “okay, I guess it would be alright, cause I Need Some Time Off For Bad Behavior, but you have to promise me something.”
“Oh, you just name it , Ma’am.”
“If I’m Not The First, Just Say I’ll Be The Last.”
“You got it, Ma’am.”
“And who knows,” she said to him as they cautiously took each other’s hand and stood up to leave the bar, “maybe for the first time in ages, we’ll both wake up tomorrow morning without an Achy-Breaky Heart.”