Let me explain.

Like some, if not most guys, I have done things I had zero interest in simply because it meant I got to spend time with a girl I was interested in. This usually ends badly. If the thing that they like is something you don’t like, unless the goal is a quick, one-time score, the prospects for a long-term relationship are fairly slim. It doesn’t mean two people can’t have different interests, but if one person actually despises something the other person enjoys, it’s only a matter of time before the hatred bubbles to the surface.

In this case, there was no bubbling. It was a one time attempt at doing something I had zero interest, or more accurately, actually kind of hated, in order to hang out with a girl.

During sophomore year of college at Bowling Green I became friends with a girl named Amy from Georgia. We met in a class and started hanging out, but there was nothing romantic going on. At some point, the told me that her friend Carly would be coming to visit, and that I needed to meet Carly. She showed me some pictures of Carly, and I decided that, yes, I should meet Carly.

A few weeks later, Carly arrived and instantly we hit off. Or, more accurately, I developed an instant crush on her. My memory is fuzzy, but I remember grabbing some food in town and trying to decide what to do that evening when the girls suggested heading up to a country bar in Toledo.

At this point, my only exposure to country music was Hee Haw, the Garth Brooks juggernaut, and Billy Ray Cyrus. In other words, I thought it was all complete crap. But, as previously explained, that sort of opinion was quickly discarded. In fact, I offered no opinion at all, and off we headed to Toledo.

Now, at this point in my life, the only trip I had made south of Ohio was to West Virginia, Washing D.C. and Florida. I had no idea what to expect when I walked into that bar, but I imagine it was somewhere between the country bar in The Blues Brothers and the Double Deuce in Roadhouse, pre-makeover. Everyone wore cowboy hats, boots, shirts and drank American beer out of bottles. My Puma’s, jeans and t-shirt didn’t exactly fit in all that well.

Although I protested, eventually I got pulled out onto the dance floor for some line-dancing, which would be as awkward and uncomfortable as you can imagine. It doesn’t take much coordination, skill or rhythm to line dance, but what it does take, I lack. Though completely sober, I flailed around helplessly while inebriated patrons executed the moves flawlessly around me. Amy and Carly got a kick out of it, and I tried to be a good sport about it, although internally I wanted to bail as soon as possible. I know, however, I had to wait, and that waiting paid off, because after a few horrible line dances, a slow song came on, and that’s when the pain and suffering paid off with a slow dance with Carly. It was the first alone (and only) alone time with Carly of the night, and I did my best to be charming and funny and all that stuff.

After Carly went back to Georgia, we spoke on the phone a few times, and I made plans with Amy to visit them during the following summer. That didn’t go as planned, but that’s another story for another day.