A Scot, a Cowgirl, and Braveheart
While I will spare you the entire saga of how I came to be the Mrs. in Stuart's life, I ran across a picture this morning that made me decide to reminisce a little.
You see, Stuart isn't (wasn't?) exactly my type.
I dated cowboys. The kind that wore Wranglers with their worn boots and had steps to get up in their pickups. The kind that worked hay harvest in the summer and spend the frigid spring nights calving their cows. It was a lifestyle for me - I mean, Beef Production was my major in College (betcha didn't know that was even a major!) A few months before I met Stuart, I had been working at a feedlot feeding 40,000 head of cattle daily and also working on a cow-calf ranch nearby. I helped laboring cows by any means necessary (which sometimes meant I was up to my armpit in...never mind). I castrated (sorry, men). I branded. I vaccinated. It was the wild wild west, man.
The night that Stuart and I met, I asked him where he lived and he calmly replied "Bellingham". I told him that they were a bunch of hippies and then asked him what his view on gun control was.
Bet you didn't know I was that classy, did ya.
Anyway, needless to say, men who listened to Phish, wore corduroys, studied C.S. Lewis, and smoked pipes weren't exactly on my list of potential mates.
I remember Stuart (of proud Scottish heritage) telling me he wore a kilt to his Senior Prom. I about died laughing.
You did not!
Yes, I did. Seriously.
No you didn't! Ha! Who wears a KILT!
Me. I wore a kilt.
(Shaye falls on floor and dies from laughing)
Well folks,
He wasn't joking. While I flaunted my cowboy boots and hat to my Senior Prom, Stuart wore a kilt. Can you imagine if we would have gone to our Senior Proms TOGETHER. Oh, I shutter to think. Note: I have never asked Stuart (nor do I care to) if he wore the "undergarments", as true Scots do not. I always wonder when watching Braveheart how they managed to ride horses without serious repercussions from this practice.
Alas, I guess God knew what he was doing, even if it meant crushing my hopes of marrying a rancher.
Because instead, I married a southern, Phish listening, pipe smoking, scotch drinking, kilt wearing, man named Stuart.
A Scot and a Cowgirl.
I guess God does have a sense of humor.