image from Google
Last night, I was at a concert in Nashville that I will hopefully blog about soon, but while we were waiting for the show to get started, "Friends in Low Places" came on overhead and I got FAR too excited.I do have lovely fond memories of listening to that album as a kid in my room. Playing "The Thunder Rolls" on repeat and trying to get my elementary school girl voice to get as low as Garth's, which realistically is impossible but it's still fun to try.
Even though the nostalgia of that song is fun for me, it's something more. It draws me in. I was surprised when I didn't hear everyone start in on "Blame it all on my roots..." and I still feel that I should allow myself to not feel guilty over the level of disappointment I experienced when I was the only person I heard singing. Slowly but surely, more and more people began to confess their love for Garth and his magical powers. You could hear people singing all around the venue once the chorus started in.
It was like we all shared this moment, unified in our love of cheesy, twangy, country gold and that bond can never be broken. We should have held hands and cried after.
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