Horses

Or maybe it has nothing to so with being a trophy vieja or a trophy chica. Maybe it has to do with being a trophy "caballo". Last night, in the Wild, Wild West, we went a little further East, El Toro, where, by the way, I was given a wristband to show the bartenders and meseras that I was old enough to drink! Security didn't ask for I.D. though. I guess he just guessed that I was old enough to drink. Anyway, I was accompanied by a handsome trophy, ooooppps again, I mean cowboy.
He was all prettied up in his suit, boots, and Durango ornament strategically placed on his strategically placed hat which is tipped low in the front and slightly to the side. You know, a kind of cocky (no pun intended) look. So in we strutted to the heavy rhythms of the band, both of us wearing our drinking wristbands. And although I said I wasn't going to drink (cause I'd had a margarita in the car, ssshhh), non-the-less, we were both prepared when the mesera took our orders. "Clamato preparado and a bottled water," I said coyly. Well, eventually that changed and I had a couple of Coronas and even went out to the car to sip a few shots of patron from my flask. My pants had those faux pockets in the back and my boots were too tight and they frisk the guys, so we couldn't take the flask in. Oh Well.
He being from the part of the Wild, Wild West called Durango, of course when the cymbals started clanking and the horns started tooting, he was ready to go out and do a little "pasito duranguense".
He took my reigns, I mean my hand and lead me out to the dance floor passing in front of the stage where the other cowpokes pose as if hanging on a fence rail, twirled me a few times, pulled me in, and quickly pranced me across the floor. All of a sudden I had a vision! I had seen el Chappo de Sinaloa do his songs while riding around on horses-show horses that is. He'd run them, then stop them on a dime. Then he'd prance them sideways, backwards and front again, with beautiful flowing hair-the horse that is. So there I was, the show horse being pranced around so this cowboy could show the rest of the cowboys what he could do on the dance floor.
Well if that's the case, I'm gonna demand training and grooming, not to mention room and board! And I want my hair combed daily with my own personal groomer to do me up before I go out on display. You might think that's a lot, but I'm not asking for anything more than the other horses. If you want a trophy horse you gotta put some investment in her. I'm not gonna work that hard on the dance floor for just a bale of hay.
But I can't complain. He took pretty good care of me, his trophy horse. When I got sweaty he'd pat me down and fix my hair. And when I was thirsty, he'd get me a drink. He'd even make sure that I looked okay on the dance floor by pulling my blouse down so as not to let my undergarments be revealed. Maybe next week I'll even get some oats!