How to Be a Cowgirl in Dallas: You say 'ranch', I think dressing
Nothing about me screams cowgirl.
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“It’s all that and a bag of chips.” Tony stated, leaning back against the windowsill, licking his orange-stained fingers, the remnants of Cheetos.
Just thinking about The Velveteen Rabbit is enough to make me choke up and mumble something incoherent about stuffed toys being real. Although we – hopefully – read many books during the course of our lives, it is our first exposure to literature that stays with us.
We drove along a narrow road, seventeen miles outside of Santa Fe. Flanked by rock formations, it was dark, save for the light pollution spilling out from casinos in the distance. Rancho Encantado felt isolated in the same way that cult compounds do – because obviously I’ve visited lots of those. Still, it seemed like the kind of place where people flocked in a quest to find themselves. Personally, I could care less about the state of my chakras. I was there for the cheese.
What do one billion people do each year?
Okay, all of the above may be true, but it’s not the answer I’m looking for. Every year, about one billion people view a Wyland mural.