Kevin said. He was standing behind the chutes with Cassidy. Tradition dictated that the rider stay with her bull in the back pens. There were three cowgirls ahead of her, but Cassidy’s turn was coming up quickly. “I've got a bad feeling right here,” Kevin told her sounding a lot like Tony Soprano. Then he pointed at his rear end. “Ha, ha,” Cassidy said. She rolled her eyes. “There's nothing more special than the sense of humor of a thirteen year old.” She looked at her watch. “Especially at eight in the morning.” That idiot Bret Bodner had moved the start time for the women up even earlier. “I'm serious,” Kevin objected. “You could break your coccyx.” “You don't even know what a coccyx is,” Cassidy countered, “or that it's very hard to break.” She wondered if this misplaced concern had something to do with him being embarrassed about her bull riding. If that was it, Kevin needed to understand his mother was a bull rider. Bull riders fell and got hurt. Current statistics indicated it was one in every three.
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