There they sit right on the shelf. A brand-new pair of Mucks. They’d be in my possession, but I lack the certain bucks.
I could go without my Pepsi for a month or maybe two. But the headache that will pound feels like a freight train passin’ through.
Well, I’ve got my Visa plastic for emergencies and such. I know they’re kinda spendy. Do I care that they’re too much?
So, I grab my precious cargo. I’m excited through and through. The clerk says, “Hundred eighty.” Darn near made me cough my chew.
But to purchase I can justify. It’s more than just a treat. No more sittin’ in the saddle with my cold and frozen feet.
I just can’t wait to wear them. Saddle up and ride ol’ Blue. But now my stirrups are too small. What’s a broke cowboy to do?
No way to take the boots back, ‘cuz I burned the dang receipt. My wife will never know the cost. Is that what’s called deceit?
The Co Op might be open. They have stirrups there to buy. Their sign says, “Closed.” Whoever said a cowboy doesn’t cry?
I’m drivin’ to the shoppin’ mall. They’ve got a western store. I’ve heard they’re proud of all their gear. The stirrups will cost more.
I’m riflin’ through the stirrups. Find a pair that fits my Mucks. I take em to the counter. Clerk says, “Two hundred twenty bucks.”
This time I cough and choke on down my brand-new plug of chew. The clerk said, “Sure they’re spendy, but they’re made for guys like you.”
I bought my brand-new stirrups with my plastic, once again. So does it hurt to use my Visa every now and then?
The patrons all behind me are all giving me the stare. They’re prob’ly thinkin’, “Poor cowboy.” I hurry out of there!
I’m addin’ up my purchases. Looks like four hundred bucks. And with the Gov’ner’s share I’m in the class of stupid clucks.
I burned the Visa card receipt. That’s safe from where I stand. And wonderin’ now if my warm feet are worth a half a grand?