I spent Sunday afternoon in our family farm's shop, refinishing a dresser I found at a local antique store. I'm a farmer's daughter, yes, and certainly what some would call a "country girl". But most who know me are surprised when they find this out about me. Maybe it's because my vocabulary doesn't include double negatives, or maybe it's because I don't like country music. Who knows. I need to have music on when I refinish anything. It keeps me in the groove and passes the time a little faster. I realized I'd forgotten the ear buds to my ipod, so I was stuck with the shop radio, where I was only able to get one station to come in. Of course, it was a country music station. (After all, I do live in Nebraska, where throwing a rocks ensures you to hit a country music fan.) I can put up with said music for a time, so I left the dial where it was and kept it low in the background. Then my ears perked a little when this came on: I am weak and he is
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