Margaret and Bert, a spunky older couple, had just moved to Texas, where everything—including dreams of becoming a cowboy—was bigger.

Bert had always fancied himself as a bit of a cowboy, so when he spotted a pair of authentic boots on sale, he couldn’t resist.

He strutted home, wearing them proudly, his face beaming.

He sauntered into the kitchen where Margaret was making tea. “Notice anything different about me?” he asked, puffing out his chest.

Margaret looked him over, unimpressed. “Nope,” she replied, barely glancing up.

Bert, not one to give up easily, stormed off to the bathroom, ditched everything but his boots, and returned, hands on his hips, completely naked but for his prized footwear.

“Well? Notice *anything* different now?” he asked, striking a pose.

Margaret glanced up, squinting a little. “Bert,” she said with a sigh, “if it’s drooping today, it was drooping yesterday, and it’ll be drooping again tomorrow.”

Bert, fuming, bellowed, “Do you know why it’s drooping, Margaret?”

“Can’t say I do,” she replied.

“It’s drooping because it’s STARING at my new boots!” he huffed.

Without missing a beat, Margaret deadpanned, “Should’ve bought a hat, Bert. Should’ve bought a hat.”