No Country for Old Rob

Lois and I have been married for just over eleven years now.  We tend to keep to ourselves and spend a lot of time at the house.  It's not that we aren't friendly, it's just that we don't really like people.  Oh, I hope I didn't offend those of you who are people. 

Recently we decided to mix things up a bit and actually got a sitter.  Suddenly the whole world was opened up before us.  We didn't have to worry about selecting a restaurant that offers crayons and a kids meal with sauceless options.  We could choose anything without having to submit a request to Buzz and Rocky. 

It was a difficult decision.  This was luxury we do not often indulge in, so we wanted to make sure we selected the *right* restaurant. I was in the mood for a good steak and Lois was in the mood for non-Shrek themed food, so we settled on Ruby River in South Provo.  We'd been there once or twice early in our marriage and we were pretty sure that it met both of those criteria.

When we arrived we were seated right away, which was a major disappointment because I wanted to eat peanuts in the waiting area.  Luckily the hostess brought a bucket of peanuts to our table, so I was willing to forgive this oversight.  Over the years, I had forgotten about the decor of Ruby River.  As we were being led to our table, the first thing I noticed was all the Country Western paraphernalia.  There were autographed cowboy boots in colors that I didn't know existed.  There were photographs of people with names like Pickler, and Chesnutt [sic], and Rascal Flatts.  I think there was even a rug made from the carcasses of brushpopper shirts. 

The music was a quite surprising, though.  When I go to an Italian restaurant, I want to hear Italian music.  I want my Mexican restaurants to play mariachi music.  And I want my Country Western restaurants to play Def Leppard.  Or U2.  Even Michael Bublé I could tolerate.  But country music?  I cannot abide this.

Here's the thing about music.  Studies have shown that people like music when they can anticipate 51% of the song.  No more and no less.  So smrt people like me find country music boring and stupid.  So if you like country music, well... it's not really your fault that your parents raised you in Payson.  The fact that you still live in Payson might be a little bit your fault. 

I suppose I shouldn't be quite so harsh.  On country music, I mean.  Some of it is rather delightful.  I actually sang "It's Your Love" by Tim McGraw to Lois at our wedding reception.  I got jiggy with it.  I mean, I got twangy with it.  Also, I like "The Joker" by Steve Miller.  And... wait, what?  That's not a country song?  Well, don't some people call him the space cowboy?  Whatever. 

So despite the lack of Counting Crows and the overage of Kenny Rogers (or whoever the popular country singers are these days), Lois and I had a good time.  My steak was done perfectly, with just the right amount of bloodiness, and my cinnamon yam was delicious.  I'm sure the salad or whatever girlie food Lois ordered was good too.  And it's nice to know that no matter where you go, as long as you're with the person you love, you can always count on Dr. Pepper being among the beverage choices.