I don't know a damn thing about basketball. I am, after all, short and the approximate girth of a garden shed, and "lightness of foot" is not a phrase that's normally used to describe me. When you add all of that to the fact that the only thing I know about dunking has to do with doughnuts and Starbucks french roast, you've got yourself a pretty good visual as to my overall athletic ability.
So last night as I watched the women's finals with one hand over my eyes and the other clutching my rosary, I was confused by the comment "She's an outstanding defensive player" as it related to Texas A&M's #23, Danielle Adams. From what I gather, "outstanding defensive player" means that you stand still while your opponent runs into you and then falls down. Repeatedly.
Needless to say, I was duly impressed with the sheer physical presence of this young lady, and when I called Aunt Chrissy to provide her with my minute by minute color commentary on the game, we both agreed that if we ever found ourselves in a dark alley with Danielle, we would 1) curtsy politely, 2) pray for bladder control, and 3) run like hell in the opposite direction.
(And before you think that I'm being mean or sarcastic or rude or judgemental, may I just point out that when I say that HER muffin top seems to be constructed of cement and MY muffin top seems to be constructed of...well...um...muffins....I do so with only reverence and respect emanating from my stupid fat little mouth.)
So you go there, Texas, with your bad selves and congratulations on a very fine performance. (At least that's what it looked like from the safe confines of my Happy Chair.)
No stitching to speak of these last several days. Never fear, though, since I'm armed with a vat of dietCoke and several items to watch on the TeeVee. I'll have updates for you (hopefully) tomorrow.