Cold Feet

After playing phone tag over the 4th of July weekend, I finally talked to a very nice woman who has two horses for sale.  We had a great conversation about her walking horses — and the more we talked, the more I realized I was terrified. Maybe “terrified” is too strong a word (and it wasn’t fear of the seller — she was great); it was the icy chilly cold of cold feet.

Maybe this is what reluctant grooms feel during the moment before “I do” when they ask themselves, “do I really?” Maybe this is what the parachutists feels before he or she leaps from the plane in his or her parachute, toes on the edge of eternity.  Maybe it is akin to those moments in the grocery store when, befuddled before an array of toothpaste, the consumer becomes incapable of chosing between minty mint or mint minty.

Anyway, I realized I wasn’t up to doing this at the moment. Not riding a horse, not owning a horse, certainly not buying one.  I didn’t understand half the terminology the seller was using.  I have no idea what kind of tree my saddle has, I know nothing about Tennesee Walking Horses, etc etc etc.

In short, I realized I wasn’t ready and that I was mostly wasting this woman’s time and that I should really really get off the phone as fast as possible.

I felt like a freshman girl who has called a senior boy on whom she has a crush.

Then I went back to Horsetopia and looked at more horses.

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