Reverse Cowgirl
Yee-Haw! A brief look into a relationship with a city girl (me) and a country boy. This article is best enjoyed with an Old-Fashioned, extra cherries.
Imagine me in the passenger seat of a pickup truck, next to the closest thing I’ve ever met to a real American cowboy. He spent his days riding horses, wrangling wild animals? fixing ATVs, and managing ranch life. Whenever he’d describe his day to me, I’d always imagine something out of the old western films I used to watch as a kid.
My favorite isn’t even a film, it’s Lonesome Dove, the 1989 miniseries starring Tommy Lee Jones, Robert Duvall, Anjelica Huston, and more! A close second: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, primarily beacuse im a big Paul Newman fan and secondly because that’s where Sam Elliott first laid eyes on his wife. They didn’t marry until years later, and are still married to this day. The stuff of fairy tales!
Now, if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, or know me in real life, you probably can’t picture me with a cowboy. But in many ways, he was a refined man.
As we drove, I sent him a text, and thanks to CarPlay, I caught a glimpse of how he had me saved in his phone: "Cheina R****"—full name, proper spelling. I asked him why he had it saved so formally. "I just do," he shrugged, then turned the question back on me. "What do you have me saved as?"
"Nothing, I don't have your number saved," I replied.
There was a bit of silence.
Here is my policy: I don't save a man’s number until I know it will be something.
"I feel like I was saved at some point," he said.
He was right. I had saved his number for approximately four hours the week before. Then he did something my future husband probably wouldn’t do, and he was promptly reverted back to a string of numbers.
"I'm going to work hard to get my name saved again," he said.
Spoiler alert: he did not.
Pictured above:
Left: First goat encounter, supervised by my dad.
Center: Me and a horse named Charlie. I prefer horses to goats.
Right: Second goat encounter, 26 years later, less supervised, very startling. They make sudden movements and strange noises.
Why I Don’t Save Men’s Numbers
It keeps me mentally sharp.
Every time that mystery number pops up, I have to use context clues to figure out who's calling. Is this the guy from the coffee shop? The one who mentioned his sister's wedding? My brain stays engaged; I think of it as a fun little brain game.
It keeps me emotionally unattached.
Not every man you date will be your husband; they can’t be. It’s a competition. The best man rises to the top. There’s something about seeing a name, especially when emojis are involved, that instantly floods your system with whatever feelings you’ve attached to them. But 407-555-0123? That’s just numbers. Numbers don’t make my heart race or my palms sweat. Unless, of course, we’re talking $$$. (Lol. Just Kidding)
And my favorite reason? I don’t want to!
One of my core principles in life is to avoid doing things that feel unnecessary or performative, unless, of course, there's meaningful personal growth on the other side. But this doesn’t do it for me. Do you know how many Johns, Pauls, and Dylans I’ve been on dates with? (Actually, none, I used fake names, but you get the point!) Lots of men have the same name. And as someone who likes organization, my contact list would begin to look something like this:
John: Tesla Guy
John: Vermont Guy
John: Weird Laugh Guy
John: Rubik's Cube Guy
It’s too much for me my friends! Now, if you’re wondering if your number is saved, it probably isn’t. Unless you’re a gay, a girl, or we are just friends (strictly platonic) I wouldn’t count on it.
