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Sports and asses
Hallelujah, It’s Round Ass Season
This one is for you, Mike Butler
The Masters are on, and I’m about to fist myself.
Don’t talk to me about football butts. Golf butts are where it’s at.
I always thought golf was such a fuckin snooze fest. Like, what a wonderful thing to turn on and take a nap to. But then, one fateful day, I was reading a book and looked up at the TV. There it was. Jason Day’s bubble butt. Ten gold stars. I put my book down and said, “Hell, maybe golf ain’t so bad after all.”
Since then, every kid in the family has picked it up, except my oldest daughter, who prefers to ride in the golf cart and get drunk. I admit that part is fun, too.
And yeah, we’re absolutely the people who break our clubs over our heads, hurl them at trees, and lob our balls into the forest and the lake (ok, trees and pond) because we have bad attitudes. Except for my youngest son and my husband. They’re so good, and it both pisses me off and impresses me.
Back to the Masters. I will spend the entire weekend watching instead of completing my ever-growing list of chores and yardwork because, at my core, I want to be a princess and just watch TV, drink wine, and eat peanut butter from a spoon.
