I HAVE TO Be Right

That's what my ex would tell me. That it would kill me to admit that I was wrong.

So, in trying to become a more mature adult I'm trying to let go of my NEED to be right all the time. The other day, I was out riding around with S when I pointed to a platte of land that now has a strip mall going up on it and said, "Wow, that went up fast. Wonder what they did with the cows?"

S, "What kind of cows were they?"

Me, thinking back and remembering light brown ones I said, "Jerseys."

S, with that smirk you give to a cute child when they mess something up (Okay, that smirk bugged me a little . . . no, a lot.) "You mean, gurnsey?"

Me, "No, Jersey."

S, still with the smirk, "It's gurnsey."

Me, letting it go because I don't always HAVE TO be right, "Okay . . . whatever."

So, I just did some Google Image searching and what do I find?

Go ahead, check it out:


A JERSEY COW MUTHAFUCKAH!!!! Representin' with it's badass mohawk.

This my dears is what used to reside where there is now construction for a new mini mall.

Not . . . a gurnsey, which, as it happens, is black and white.

I'm still working on not NEEDING to be right, but when I am . . . I just . . .

AM, NEBRASKA BOY!