Those were the words Chris uttered when she came home today, catching me singing along to George Strait’s All My Exes Live in Texas while I was running on the treadmill and playing Hexic (for me it’s the new Sudoku) on the tablet. Yes, I do indeed not hate country music. What can I say? I don’t like to exclude music from my playlists simply because it has been categorized into some narrow genre by an idiot in a recording studio. No, I don’t like all country music, but I do like some of it.
Grant said it best when he came over today: it was like you cheated on her or something. Yeah, that’s the impression I got from her when she had that look of disgust coming through the door 
I’m still trying to picture you, i-pod in one hand, towel in the other, singing along to George Strait as you run. Yes, I agree that outright discrimination of a recording studio generated genre is not at all fair…you all know I was raised listening to it, so it is taking it’s sweet ass time wearing off. However, I would be careful…pretty soon you’ll be wearing cowboy boots, driving a 1960’s pickup (with the obligatory stars and bars sticker and a gunrack in the back), buying tickets to Country Thunder, wearing a stars and stripes do-rag as you go on and on about a tear in your beer and why you now hang your hat in Tennessee. This may be what Chris is trying to protect against, and she is not all wrong. This is serious stuff.
That is all well and good, but I think I can resist the need for a classic pickup. I don’t know that I could resist a bright orange Dodge Charger.