PRETTY RANCHY

I wanted to grow up and be beautiful, but my Mom wouldn't let me read Cosmo. So, I had to listen and look around me to figure out what beauty was. What I saw were women with crows feet and laugh lines, sun damage, freckles and scarred hands. Their nails weren't painted, they were gentle but calloused, decorated with turquoise, diamonds, gold and rope burns.

They had long hair, bleached by the sun and perfectly wild from the wind. Their clothes were faded and hats shaped with style and then sweat.

Maybe you saw them too, since now I see a lot of time and money can go into looking like you worked so hard your jeans fell apart and your hair is salty and light.

I was ashamed of my smooth youthful skin, my baby cheeks. I wanted to be beautiful, I wanted to have stories to tell. Stretch marks from bringing life into the world and toned legs from the long trot. I wanted a variety of colors warmed into my skin from the different angles of the sun.

I knew that the glittering and glamorous rodeo queens were beautiful too. Soon I learned to curl my hair, line my eyes and push everything up or down, in and out to be my most appealing. But I am thankful for the original way I saw those women. Those fiercely gorgeous women who carried themselves with grace and elegance no matter what room, arena, corral or fire they walked through.

I haven't worn lipstick in years, I just do too much kissing each day. And I don't always feel sexy when I see all those stretch marks that my babies made. I started to find a few gray hairs and that scar across my forehead is blending into wrinkles. All I can hope is that when I am carrying myself right that some little girl will look up from her Cosmo and think, " I want to be beautiful like her, in a hat shaped with style and then sweat." I want to be beautiful like a cowgirl.