I rarely play sports anymore, and I don’t watch or follow games at all. I own a couple of old Cardinals t-shirts, but I rarely wear them. I don’t know anything about the NFL standings or college draft picks, or who won the Heisman. I am aware of the NCAA Basketball Tournament each March, because the ads are all over the grocery stores, but I haven’t watched a game in many years, and I couldn’t tell you who won the last one. I don’t know who won the last Super Bowl or the last World Series. As near as I can tell, the only difference between the NBA and professional wrestling is the ball. I like World Team Tennis, and Vania King is my favorite athlete.
|Mighty, mighty Vania King.|
I don’t whistle at women who walk by. One, I can’t whistle, and two, as a married man with seven daughters, I learned long ago that ogling women is degrading, to them and to me. I notice women, I suppose, more than I notice men, because there is nothing attractive about men. I might notice a woman’s hands, or hair, or even a nice shape, but I don’t stare after women. Generally, my reaction to most females is “put some clothes on.”
I know nothing about cars, except where to put in the gas. I wouldn’t know a carburetor from a solenoid, and I had to look up how to spell both. I know what an antitragus is but not a carburetor. I know a Mustang when I see one, and Volkswagon Beetles, but otherwise I can’t tell the make or model of a car unless I’m close enough to read the emblems on the back. I’ve driven nothing but mini vans for about three decades, which is fine by me, and I haven’t had a moving violation since 1985.My bedroom is two shades, pink and burgundy, with white trim. There are not one but two ruffles around the pink bed (I painted it myself) and doilies everywhere, with embroidery and plates and hats from the 50s on the walls. There is lots of lace, three hat boxes, a basket of linens, several quilts, bowls of jewelry and a handful of dolls of various sizes. And I like sitting in there.
Read Part 1.
Read Part 3, tomorrow.