As I looked into the perfect brown eyes of my enemy, I decided one thing: this bitch was undeniably psychotic. She tossed her hair back, letting it frame her angular face in a silken sheet. She was so pretty that I couldn’t help but feel my heart twinge a little bit. I wanted to be her friend. But no. She had hurt me so many times. Sensing my confliction, she let out a soft snort and turned away.
“Marci,” I pled impatiently. And then it hit me. I mean, it literally hit me. Marci, the 2,000-pound behemoth of a horse that I was attempting to wrangle, moved her foot and planted it squarely on my toes. I frantically starting pushing against her brown shoulder in an attempt to salvage what was left of my foot, when I heard a squeal from the front of Marci’s stall. I looked up as the horse lifted her foot, only to see a girl with khaki leggings and a pretentious helmet petting the animal that just tried to kill me.
Needless to say, I went running back to my frat hounds and srat cats shortly after completing my internship at the local stable. However, my time there allowed me to learn things beyond the realm of horse care. Really, I was completing a social experiment. Research, if you will. And the results are undeniably conclusive: horse girls, in some fundamental way,
are still crazy girls. They may hide behind their stylish outfits and cute Instagram photos, but there is no denying the obvious insanity that accompanies them.
I, like any basic Midwestern girl, was born and raised with dogs. I love them. But whatever inherent force that causes me to love dogs is the same force that is put into overdrive in our equine friends. Yes, I love puppies. But do I plaster my room with photos of them? No. Would I purchase a dog for a few thousand dollars? Definitely not. Would I attempt to snuggle a puppy that weighed ten times as much as me? Nope. And, most importantly, would I try to tame a vicious dog in hopes that it will one day love me back? Hell no.
The crux of my research comes down to this point. Horses are huge, have sharp and pointy toes, and have deceivingly large teeth. Sounds like the perfect pet, right? No. It sounds like a fucking tiger. But not only are you trying to co-inhabit the same space as the horse, you are also trying to sit on it’s back and ride it. Statistically speaking, the only types of people who would be keen for such a task are the same people who would write in pen or skip a day of the pill — they like to live life on the edge. Because I like to put my tuition dollars to good use, I actually collected data to back up my claims. I witnessed a girl be thrown off a horse, land square on her back, and get right back up like the horse was her cocaine. She was addicted.
Whatever magic mojo horses have, it clearly overrides human psychology. It’s natural to be tentative after being hurt by something. I mean, that’s how I justify my love life. I’m still getting over my rough breakup from 2nd grade. But horse girls take this notion and flip it. With every bruise, every kick, and every bite, they become increasingly enamored with their furry friend. Clearly, the horses aren’t magical — which leaves only one option. Sorry, but horse girls are still crazy girls..
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