Well hello there, my overworked, under-ridden Hussy.
City life got you down?
Me too.
This Hussy has gone country… part deux.
I’ve been watching Yellowstone.
Yes, I know.
I’m approximately eight years behind.
But I’m from the Midwest.
We’re always late to the party.
Green Bay just got Zima and flip phones.
Just wait until they get dial-up.
I love Yellowstone.
Now I want to do some cowboy shit.
I want to be Elsa Dutton from 1883.
The prettiest cowboy of all time.
Cowboy is a gender-neutral term in Hussy Country.
Total they/them power bottom vibes.
Prettier than Luke Bryan.
Prettier than Riley Green.
Prettier than those shirtless dudes from Florida Georgia Line.
Back when I dated guys, those were the guys I would switch teams for.
Talented, charismatic, overly groomed.
They all have a body waxer and a manicurist on the tour bus.
And I’m not alone.
Nine out of ten “straight” redneck dudes would hook up with those same cowboys after a sixer of Natty Light.
Right, Dale?
Don’t act like it’s your first time, baby girl.
We’ve seen you swallow your Copenhagen.
Our lists are the same, except yours is laminated.
In pink glitter.
I would be a horrible cowboy.
I’d ride a horse.
For three minutes.
Campfire?
Yes, please.
As long as the chair reclines, it’s not too nipply, and Ashley Cooke is singing cowboy love songs to this Hussy.
What up, baby girl.
Making out under the stars?
Intriguing.
Not with you, Dale.
Hand to Kesha (God), I’m fine with a little outside.
Give me a mountain cabin with a view, a wood-burning fireplace and cute cowgirls serving me mimosas.
Yes, please.
As long as someone else chops the wood.
I have bars on the flip.
And I’m inside the DoorDash radius.
Let’s do some cowboy shit.
Some people like to put on their little pink helmet, strap on the training wheels, ring their little bell and take their shiny bicycle outside for a workout.
Some people prefer indoor spin.
AC.
Cable.
A mimosa bar on the side while a sexy virtual trainer named Lexi berates you through spin class.
I’m that girl.
Soooo cowboy.
