My husband flew to Flagstaff, Arizona, last night to hook up with his high-school buddy, who is driving to Oklahoma to inspect the oil wells his father left him and his brother. Evidently, one well is not producing.
“Bring your work boots and gloves,” Bruce told Ron.
So off they drive into tornado country, two vital and manly sixty-somethings, jeans and work boots, memories and nostalgia.
It is a very neat (and sexy) package.
Masculine seems to out of favor these days what with the pelting of the American male by everybody and every institution on the West Coast and East Coast. And sadly, the American male has acquiesced, in some cases becoming soft and squishy.
I am attracted to a man who like his vodka tonics (and gets annoyed when the tonic is out of a gun), who approaches serious topics with serious intensity, who has a Skill Saw in his garage and can perform electrical repair, who chooses a hotdog at the turn instead of a salad, who knows how to shoot a rifle and a handgun instead of how to call the alarm company, who has served his country, who still carries a handkerchief in his back pocket, who has no idea how to use Uber, and who still wants to enlist in the Israeli IDF (if needed).
This kind of man appeals to me.