13 of 52.

Black Heels to Tractor Wheels: A Love Story by Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman!)

Oh man, did I ever love this love story. I could pull A LOT of good quotes from this one. Limited myself to a few...for some girlfriends...I thought of 'em.


For Courtney (Because of your love for Oklahoma, and your current California address...and your road rage.)
There was something about the prairie. It was so drastically different from the crashing waves of the California coast, or from the rocky cliffs of Laguna, or from the palm trees and the mountains and the sunshine and the smog. It was wide open--not a freeway or highrise in sight--and it whispered history and serenity. Apart from the horses and the cattle, it was scarcely populated, with miles from one cowboy house to the next. Though I'd been away from L.A. for months, its pace and clutter were still so much a part of me, I could sometimes hear it ringing in my ears. I'd still get road rage pulling out of my parent's driveway. I'd still allow an hour for a ten-minute drive. But five minutes on the prairie, and I'd forget about all of it. My soul would settle, relax, let go.


For Hannah (A happily-ever-after version of the dating pool!!! -Love, Your Friend Still Swimming Laps)
Up until then that's all I'd been: a child masquerading as a disillusioned adult, looking at love much as I'd looked at a round of Marco Polo at the country club: when they swam after me, I'd swim away. And there are accusations of peeking and cheating, and you always wind up sunburned and pruney and pooped. And no one ever wins.
It was Marlboro Man who'd helped me out of the pool, wrapped a towel around my blistering shoulders, and carried me to a world where love has nothing to do with competition or sport of strategy. He told me he loved me when he felt like it, when he thought of it. He never saw any reason not to.


For Emily J. (Are you laughing loudly while reading this? I am.)
If Marlboro Man were moonshine during Prohibition, I'd smuggle crates of it across state lines and guzzle it on the journey; if he were a street drug, I'd sell my hair to score a fix; if he were standing below a cliff, I'd jump off to be with him. If Marlboro Man was wrong, I didn't want to be right.


For Me
And as the three of us made our way outside to Marlboro Man's diesel pickup, I had to bite my lip to keep myself from articulating the only seven words in the English language that were in my vocabulary at that moment: God help me--I love that man.