Charisophia on Elusive Beauty.

At the Rodeo, I watch these four in amusement as they drink beer after beer in the glaring hot sun and gape at everything female over about the age of about 25 who strolls by their little tailgate party. They are having one hell of a good time, and I think they are probably harmless enough. Especially with my big cowboy around. But, as I make my way down from the bleachers with my 8-year-old son in tow to take photos of the Rodeo Queen, who is sitting on her horse almost right next to these charmers, I figure I am in for it.

I haven't snapped one photo when I feel eyeballs glued to the seat of my jeans and hear a high-spirited, "Aieeeee, want to come and sit with us?" I ignore them. Take my pictures while guileless C. is tugging my arm, saying, "Mom, Mom, those guys asked if you want to go sit with them."

"Oh, come on, why don't you take our picture?" they cajole. The Rodeo Queen is glaring at them now.

I put the camera down, turn to survey all of them grinning at me wickedly like four slightly paunchy foxes. At 42, I know how to nip this one in the bud.

"Hey, you know what?" I ask them. Allow the moment to fill up with silence, and then answer myself. "You guys are pretty good looking."

Their faces register shock.

"I think I will take your picture. Ready?" I point the camera at them. "Say cheeeeeeeese."

One of the men removes his cowboy hat, straightens up his hair, grins, then on second thought, puts it back on again, still grinning.

Sweet.