The Big Texan, 72 Oz. Steaks, and Asking Permission, Part 2

5 minutes and two songs about senoritas later, I pulled some bills out of my wallet and thanked him for playing (he really was good). I turned back to Sarah. Her buffalo burger was cold on her plate, but her temper was white-hot. “Why would you say yes? What on earth made you think that I would want that? Didn’t we both just say we hated having musicians serenade us at the table?” I’d gotten flustered and said yes when I should have said no. I felt really, really dumb. 

She slept as we drove through the desert outside of Amarillo. I had about 6 hours of blank sand and sagebrush to think about what had happened. I love music- we both love music. The guitarist was talented. I want places like the Big Texan to employ musicians. And there are tons of people out there that love being serenaded at their tables. If I’m the singing cowboy, how do I figure out which is which?

 As we rounded Shamrock, TX it suddenly clicked. 

To be continued. . .