"Honey, where are my spurs?"

And so, everything is about to get started. People are walking around fixing lights, the bulls are delivered, and the cameraman takes his place. One of the bull riders enters the ring, climbs up the side, and asks his wife for something in the stands. After a second or two, out of her purse, she hands him a pair of spurs. Colleen and I decide the conversation went like this:

“Honey, where my spurs? I checked my bag but they aren’t there”
“I packed them, I’m sure of it.”
“I’m telling you I can’t find them. I can’t ride without my spurs.”
“Don’t worry, you know I always carry a spare in my purse. Here you go.”
“Thanks, Dear.”
“You’re welcome, Darlin’.”
I don’t know about Colleen, but in my head they had southern accents.
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