Third Time's a Charm

Third time's a charm, literally. When I married my third love at age thirty-five, one of my wedding presents was a charm that looked like a pile of cow dung. Okay, that's a lie. It could have been a cowboy hat that resembled cow poop. I don't remember now. It was oh so long ago. What I do remember is that my husband was a cowboy, literally.

We got married, had a little cowboy, divorced, and that's all there is to that story. What? You want more? Okay, here's something. I was introduced to the cowboy at his farm while standing in a pile of cow dung. He liked me; I liked him. We got married, had a little cowboy, divorced, and that's all there is to that story. What now? Still more? After we left the cow pasture, kicked the poop off our boots, and went inside his farmhouse, we got cozy and cuddled on the couch. He liked me. I really liked him. We got married, had a little cowboy, divorced, and that's all there is to that story. What do you mean you think there's more to the story? Well, maybe there is a tad more. After several cozy months inside that farmhouse cuddling on the couch, I was in love--or was I in love with the idea of love? But, and it's a great big BUT here,  he realized He Just Wasn't That Into Me, so we went our separate ways. Four months later we got married, had a little cowboy, divorced, and that's all there is to that story, literally.