Before She Freaks

With the exception of the week of my wedding when Sara and ended up visiting the bar across the street from my parents with friends not once, but twice, I am not normally a person who goes to bars. If I do, it’s almost always connected with some special occasion: meeting old friends, weddings, really really needing a drink… Bars are for the young and legally aged (or properly false identified). My age, plus half the combined ages of both my daughters makes me an effective 39 years old, with or without my valid state driver’s license. I’m too old to be hanging out in a bar. But I’ve still got a fantastic head of hair.

Now, if I was of the mind to be hanging out in a bar, I know which one it would be. I want to go to that bar that Carrie Underwood is singing about in her song “Before He Cheats”.

Right now he’s probably slow dancing with a bleached-blond tramp, and she’s probably getting frisky…

This bar has attractive blonde women of questionable morality and frolicsome nature.

Right now he’s probably buying her some fruity little drink cause she can’t shoot whiskey…

This bar serves mixed drinks and straight shots.

Right now he’s probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo…

This bar has pool tables, and apparently patrons who are willing to give private lessons.

And he don’t know…
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little suped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat…
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires…
And maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats.

Unfortunately, this bar has some pretty crappy security.

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