Given the opportunity to chat with ol' Natalie, Martie, and Emily back in 2003, I'd say "Girls, we fightin'." (Sorry Martie and Emily, guilt by association I guess.)
I believe in freedom of speech and all, ya know, but come. on. Could you have shared your views on #43 and the war in such a way so as not to get your awesome twangy tunes ripped right off of the airwaves before we even had a chance to get tired of them?!?! Yes. Yes, I think you could've.
Words hurt, Natalie. Your words caused my blaring Dixie Chicks car concerts to become faux pas. That hurt. Those concerts were good. You ruined a good thing, Natalie.
(Full disclosure: I heart GWB. Was he the perfect POTUS? No. No such thing. He did what he thought he had to do. But for me, it wasn't really about all that. Believe what you want. Say what you want. Again, freedom of speech. I can deal. Just be prepared for the fallout. The fallout is what hurt us, Natalie.)
Fast forward 12 years: Given the opportunity to chat with Natalie, Martie, and Emily today, I'd say "Girls, we good." I guess 12 years of absence will do that to a Dixie Chick lovin' girl. That and Amazon Prime Music plastering their Essentials album across my app to the point I HAD to listen. I mean, it was right there at my fingertips. And it was FREE! One slide across that fiddle and a DC lovin' girl will end her unintentional boycott against awesome twangy tunes and forgive a big mouth. She'll sit on her back patio, sip her coffee, and sing along at the top of her lungs just like no time has passed. She'll remember every single word. (You're welcome, neighbors.) And the memories. Oh, the memories! So many memories set to a DC soundtrack that make me smile.
Nope, we not fightin' anymore. We good.
Funny how music can do that to ya, huh?
On a sorta related note: Wanna know what's not so funny?
My husband.
He's not even the least bit appreciative of my serenading him with a little "Cowboy Take Me Away". He's not appreciative at. all. He asked me to put on my headphones. He says he's not even a cowboy. He has boots, so to me, for today, that counts. He also has no appreciation for my lyrical dance interpretation of the song across the living room floor. He asked me to take it to another room. (That leap across the floor at the crescendo? Magic.) What is even wrong with him?!?!
