Things I Learned at the Rodeo

This week has been rodeo week here in town, and while I’ve never been much of a fan I had a really good time.  Normally I stay away from activities involving horse poop because I’m surrounded by it at home.

I have found, though, that you can learn something from just about every situation in which you find yourself and the rodeo was no exception.

So first, I have to give you some background:

It’s really hot at the rodeo, since it’s outside and there’s little to no shade.

You have to wear jeans at the rodeo, it’s like a rule.  It’s not written down anywhere, you’re just supposed to know.

So when you walk around in jeans, and it’s really hot outside?  You get a little swampy in the drawers, if you know what I mean.

Oh, come on.  Don’t even try to tell me you have not had a case of swamp-crotch at some point in your life because I will call you all for a liar, liar, swampy pants on fire!

Anyway, here’s where I get to the lesson.

After you drink a few beers you have to visit the facilities.  The facilities at this particular rodeo are either porta potty nastieness or the restroom inside the livestock event center.

The inside of the livestock event center is hotter than the surface of the sun because it’s not air-conditioned or ventilated in any way.  Plus it smells like cow poo.  Really hot and stinky cow poo.  But it’s better than a porta potty because even though they’re making them in pink now it doesn’t disguise the eww factor.

So I visited the restroom in the livestock event center, where they are kind enough to provide seat covers for the patrons.  This appeared to be a place where I would appreciate a seat cover, especially if everyone else was in the same condition I was.

I placed the cover over the seat and made use of the facilities.  So far so good, right?

Then I stood up.

Can you see where this is going yet?

I stood up and the seat cover came with me.

It wasn’t just clinging, like maybe with static so you could just brush it off.

It was glued to my ass like a spitwad gets stuck to the ceiling.

And it didn’t want to come off.

I had to peel it off, piece by piece.  Then, because of my Mom’s “don’t forget to wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident” indoctrination I had to feel around to make sure that there were no remnants.

Because with my luck I would be in an accident and they would pants me in the emergency room and find pieces of toilet seat cover glued all over my ass.   And that?  Would be the opposite of awesome.