text: One of 100 2 minute Myths I'm in the process of writing here &#x200B; The men from Branch were high-waisted and took naturally to line dancing. They got their unique physiques from traversing bogs, looking for berries their wives turned into sweet jams that slept in their bones while they fished. And one of their own, Nefarious Power, had spent five years on the professional line dancing circuit up along before the pull of the tides got too strong and he retired. Drawn there by the gentle gravity of his own fate, he’d originally gone to look for work, but was soon recruited by one of the teams and quickly became an all-star. When he retired, Nef was so sick of dry land, the first thing he did was spend a year circumnavigating the globe in an all electric sailboat called *The Some Shocking Good.* After that he built a house with a garage big enough to hold, ski-doos, ATVs and all the other toys a bayman dreams of after he drinks too much Lambs and Coke. But they quickly lost their appeal and soon sat unused, like some people’s common sense, as deep within his heart Nef still longed for line dancing. So, on a beige Tuesday morning in June, he marched himself down to the post office and stuck a note on the bulletin board asking if there were any men in town interested in starting a recreational line dancing league. Within three hours he had enough names to call the school and reserve the gym every Saturday from four to eight. The talent was immediate, especially notable was a young 19 year old named Jobadiah Nash, who could dance any position in the line with ease and a smile that whispered, I’ll see you later if I’m still alive. When Forthright Johnson, the CEO of the largest line dancing talent agency in Texas saw a shaky online video of the teams competing, it was so moving he called everyone he’d ever done wrong and begged forgiveness. Then he sent his private jet up to the island and it returned, laden with 14 fishermen who would compete as a two row, line dancing team in a semi-pro league out of Houston. Because of the advantage their high waists gave them in performing both kicks and pirouettes, they soon became the toast of Texas. Lavished with prize money, adoration and cowboy boots, the men quickly took to drinking and carousing in the local bars until the wee hours, before they staggered back to their hotel and dreamed that they were home. Young Jobadiah Nash, who cursed the air blue when he found out the drinking age was 21 in Houston, was the most unhappy, and even the drinks snuck up to his room did little to dull the distance he felt in his heart. But, even hungover and homesick, the fishermen could out-dance the best of the locals with ease, and soon resentment began to simmer on the surface of the days when they performed. After they showed up to one competition, reeking of rum and nostalgia, but still won handily, the editors at the Houston Chronicle had had enough. The very next issue displayed a front page picture of the team drinking at Shoeshine Charley’s Big Top Lounge, with a headline that screamed, *High-Waisted or High and Wasted?* Nef Power was crushed, as he knew it was his fault the men had wandered so far from the homemade bread and jam they craved in their sleep, so he went to see Forthright Johnson to discuss an exit plan. Forthright immediately offered to double their wages, as he couldn’t imagine letting the team, who moved like their feet fed on the floor, just waltz away, but to no avail. Nef explained that the men were thirsty for the ocean and that that thirst could not be quenched with all the bourbon and beer in Texas. Then Forthright threatened legal action, but Nef would not relent even though he, like everyone, knew how vicious the line dancing gangs in Texas prisons were. After seven hours of heated arguments and coy maneuvering, Forthright reached into a desk drawer where he kept his happy endings and suggested a contract for one show the third Tuesday of each month. Nef, after bouncing it off the others, agreed and the men were soon home again, stuffing themselves on sweet jams and salt breezes. As per the contract, once a month Forthright Johnson sent his private jet up to the island and the 14 line dancing fishermen would head back to Houston. And there, in an always sold out Astrodome in front of 66,000 adoring fans, the bright lights of Texas would shine down on those high-waisted men from Branch.