I can already hear the groans of those of you that are about to read this: I have always loved country music. Most people don't. I know both of my exes didn't.
My first boyfriend would remedy the situation by switching to another channel. One moment I'd be humming to Randy Travis and the next moment I'd hear cracking and popping. He'd call it "the highest station for the highest of rollers" and would promptly tune the radio to the highest it would go, somewhere in the 106's and 107's. The static would crackle in our ears as we rode down the road. The apathy crumbled my heart.
The next boyfriend was equally as enthusiastic over my music tastes. But instead of changing the channel altogether, he'd shut the music off completely. It would be a lingering silence that I should have listened to a little more closely, warning me. Popping and silence-deafening-pleaded with me to leave.
Instead, I stayed with men that would rather hear the sounds of crippling static or engulfing silence than something I love.
Gretchen Gales has loved country beer drinking songs since birth, but she couldn't tell you what they were actually about until she was 15. See more of her writing at writinggales.wordpress.com.