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Nov
14
2013

When Rick and I moved to Florida, we pretty much had one friend in our new town. And we can’t even remember how we met him. We think one of our real estate brokers put us in touch with him when we were considering a Florida move about a year and a half ago.

If I remember correctly, we wanted to talk to people who actually had families and lived here without getting eaten by alligators or disappearing into sink holes. We’re thorough like that.

We ended up becoming friends with this guy and he is truly the Julie McCoy of South Florida. (I know I once said Rick’s cousin Wendi was the McCoy of Florida so they might have to share this coveted title.)

This friend, let’s call him Julie, seriously knows everything going on in South Florida which is really helpful when you are new in town. And he’s pretty much the reason we ended up at a country bar called the Honky Tonk Tavern on Saturday night. That’s actually not the real name of the bar. I don’t know why I’m protecting its identity.

This place is just like the bar in Footloose except I couldn’t find Kevin Bacon anywhere. Mostly because he lives in New York.

There were some serious dancers at this Honky Tonk Tavern – like 70-year-olds who throw their cardigan sweaters on their bar stools so you won’t even think of stealing their seats when they get up for some line dancing.

Of course, we wanted to get in on the fun so we headed out to the dance floor when they had a brief tutorial for the beginners. I was wearing 3 inch heels which may not be the ideal footwear for line dancing but my pseudo cowboy boots are in the attic.

I’m not doing the “wear boots when it’s 80 degrees in Florida” thing. I mean, I could do it. But then I would probably end up cutting them off my feet in a fit of hot foot rage.

The line dancing tutorial went okay but then there was a little incident as I was exiting.

I was hugging the side of the dance floor as to not mess with any of the Footloose dancers but all of a sudden a couple smacked right into me, causing me to teeter dangerously on my heels, practically knocking me down and sending my clutch purse flying across the dance floor.

Do you think this couple stopped to offer an apology and help me collect my belongings?

No they did not.

Because country is apparently very fierce. They continued to whirl around the floor while I dove for my belongings and attempted to not get crushed in a sea of western wear.

I made a mad dash out of that place. But let it be noted that this girl did not spend a year living in Montana to be knocked around by some Floridian two stepper. I will be back. Probably without the 3 inch heels.

mama bird notes:

You guys are a smart bunch. Rick was the one who did this to Cash.


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