All Hat, No Cattle

Have you ever broken a bone?

I made it into my late 20s unscathed, which is amazing considering how utterly reckless I am. Er, was.

What’s the saying? Go big or stay home? My first broken bone(s), I went big.

I was dating a guy who thought he was a country boy. He asked me out to his family’s “farm” so he could “show me the countryside” Eh, okay. I’ll bite.

His parents rented a house on the edge of a farmer’s field. There was no farm, no countryside. Well, there was a farm and a countryside. Just not his. Not to mention, the whole day was somewhat suspect. He had to sneak the keys to the shed to “borrow” his stepdad’s four-wheeler. He struggled to start said four-wheeler. It was obviously all an act.

Once he got the four-wheeler started, he motioned for me to jump on the back, and off we went. Now, let me preface these next few words by saying this – I had never been on a four-wheeler before in my life. My dad bought us kids a mini-bike when we were younger, I had several friends with motorcycles that I’d ride with, but four-wheeling was new to me.

Apparently, four-wheeling was new to Country Boy as well.

The hill wasn’t that big. Yes, it was steep. Yes, it had a severe gouge down the middle where rain had eroded the hill, making the path uneven. But, my common sense clicked in as we started up the hill. We were going way too slow. And instead of leaning into the hill, Country Boy leaned back.

Whoop-ta-de-do, Country Boy and a 650-pound four-wheeler were flipping backwards. With me on the back.

Ya’ll, I have one hell of an angel on my shoulder. The accident happened in a matter of seconds. For all intents and purposes, my neck should have been snapped that day. As my back made contact with the hill, my hair got caught in an exposed root. The momentum of the roll over sent Country Boy and the four-wheeler continuing down the hill. The tree roots kept me in place, until they didn’t. A baseball-sized chunk of my scalp was ripped away and I slid about halfway down the hill. I laid there dazed for a few seconds. Everything was grey. As I started to question what the fuck just happened, I heard three loud pops and then I couldn’t breathe.

Four broken ribs resulted during that little gem of a day date.

Oh, and for those who are concerned… Country Boy sustained ZERO injuries. My body cushioned his fall and the dumb fuck didn’t even get a scratch.


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