Boob Tag

We had a softball game tonight--at my favorite time, 6:15. It is my favorite because we can just go right after work and it is still warm and we get home in time to take a hot shower and watch Sportscenter. Sometimes twice.

The hubby and I kicked some serious ass tonight. J hit a triple and a homerun (and honestly the triple could have been a homerun but the poor man does not have knees that work so you have to forgive him). I have three RBI's and two hits. I only killed on rally because I was waved in (way too ambitiously I think--do they forget that I run like an iceberg?) and could not slide.

And their catcher totally smacked me in the boob.

I know he didn't mean to, but MY GOD did it hurt. My prima-donna ultra-sensitive winy baby boobs tend to swell up and scream with pain if you breathe on them too hard in the days before my period. And this guy just nailed me with a ball and a glove.

And I did not rip of his testicles. So that was good.

And we kicked the holy shit out of this team. It felt good, we are sort of a rag-tag team. A little older than the other teams (who are mainly are in their early twenties, J and I are the youngest on our team at 26). Our guys are small and the girls besides me even tinier. And this team clearly thought that they were going to roll right over the top of us.

More importantly, I was a good hitter! Everything I hit went into the outfield! Like I knew what I was doing! WHEEE!

We were short on female players so some one invited this woman who had never played before. She was possibly the sweetest woman in the world, but she really didn't know anything. She didn't have a glove. When she got up to bat she stood on the plate. And the other team started to laugh.

Fuckers.

I mean we are a REC LEAGUE y'all. Any league that allows me to play does not have high standards. But she fucking showed them, because she had a hit and an RBI.

Which was more than a couple of their better players.

So fuck off you cowboy-hat-wearing-during-a-fucking-softball-game-and-do-not-think-I-don't-know-those-are-SEVEN-jeans-you-are-wearing-smug-motherfucker.

What is that anyway?

Of course I do have some shame in all of this. Because that guy was smoking hot. And I totally checked out his ass when he was running.

Why couldn't he have been the one tagging my boob?