I am so sick of bugs and I am so sick of bulls, only 22 to go (bulls, that is, the bugs number in the kajillions). I’m tired and hot and cranky.
Got in an argument with my cowboy after chasing a Red Angus through the brush (on foot). Heaven help the big wuss (the bull, that is, not the cowboy) if he hadn’t run off I’d have. . . done something horrible to him. Rode back home at a gallup, now I’m sulking alone in the house in the middle of the afternoon, trying hard to calm down. I have to get too pumped sometimes to deal with those bulls and I can’t control my temper (it’s like being on anabolic steroids).
I’m going to go die my hair, get cleaned up, and paint my toenails!!! How’s that for mad?