Don't Mess

I was born and raised nestled between my treasured twins; Dallas and Fort Worth, Texas. And although there’s always been a potence in my pride for this state… I’ve never really been a true Texan. In fact, until quite recently I’ve always hated the typical “Texan”.

But today, I’m a Texan.

With “Bless your heart” & “Honey” lining our lips, we watch the rolling thunder and lightning overtake the water we were boating and floating on just hours before. Carelessly crowding the lofty twilight in cut-offs & cowboy boots, eating sunflower seeds, listening to the southern comfort of Kenny Chesney & cicadas, talking about spending money that none of us have. We talk loud, laugh louder, and sarcastically scream “ya’ll”. Aimlessly driving through canopies of starlight on Snakey roads – our sunroof up, our hair down, and our summery sun soaking every square  – occasionally stopping for the Ice Cream Place, an impromptu road-side two-step, a CVS lollipop. I even happen-stanced upon four Armadillos carouseling the street-side cobblestone and yipped a lil’, “aaawh, how cute!” Add The Texas Rangers, The Drive-In, chicken fried steak, weekend fireworks, really bad dad jokes, Independence Day, fresh lemonade, & sweet tea… then drenching it all in a home-style gravy… And you’ve got Texas.

All in the bed of my boyfriend’s GMC truck. 

And see, this is what I love. All my life, I’ve always wanted to be super swanky, sharp – anything & everything classy. But yah know… I’ve always been wrong. This summer, this summer was for the unorganized. For the unintentional. For the unsophisticated. For the Texan. 

Oh, And I officially prefer Whataburger to McDonalds. 

And I’ve never been a happier human being.