Texas, Tattoos, and Lies.

When I travel, I lie.

Nothing harmful. Just enough to make things interesting.

Different job. Different life. No follow-up questions.

So years ago, I’m in Dallas with a girl I was dating.

We decide—very casually—that I’m a recruiter for OU football. She’s a first-year sports agent.

No prep. No notes. Just vibes.

We’re in Deep Ellum on a random Thursday, and the bartender asks:

“What brings you to Dallas?”

And without hesitation, I go:

“Here to watch some high school football this weekend. I recruit for OU.”

Smooth. Clean. Confident.

He turns to her:

“And what do you do?”

And she—without missing a beat—

“I’m a sports agent. Hoping some of these kids go to OU so I can take them to the NFL.”

This man lights up.

I mean lights up.

Immediately starts telling us about his nephew:

Senior

Two-way player

Corner and receiver

Big school

“Next level talent” (obviously)

We got stats. We got game schedules. We got full family history.

We also did not pay for a single drink the rest of the night.

At some point, the conversation drifts, and I ask him:

“How long have you lived in Texas?”

He goes:

“All my life. I love Texas.”

Which felt like a normal answer at the time.

I said, “You do?”

And this man—without hesitation—rips open his pearl snap shirt…

…and reveals a full chest tattoo of the state of Texas.

I mean massive. Belly button to collarbone. Just Texas.

And I start laughing.

Because I’m sitting there thinking:

I have never, in my entire life, seen someone with a tattoo of Oklahoma.

Not once.

I’m not saying we’re not proud… I’m just saying nobody’s been like, “Yeah, put the whole state on me forever.”

And as I’m laughing, I say:

“I’ve never seen an Oklahoma tattoo in my life. Y’all are on another level down here.”

And from across the bar…

this guy locks eyes with me.

Doesn’t say a word.

Just slowly lifts his sleeve…

…and shows me a tattoo of the state of Idaho.

Did not see that coming.