It's waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay past my bedtime and much too late to write anything of coherence. But I feel obligated to post every single day, so I'll just post this poor excuse for not posting.
To make up for it, tomorrow night I'll post a story about a couple whom my husband once invited to come swimming at our house, prompting me to kick him in his brace-encased sprained ankle.
First gymnastics meet of the season, and WE SUCKED. Fortunately for our team, we sucked less than the other team, so our pitiful little 195.425 held up. It pains me to write that score. I would not want to be those girls Monday morning. Hell, they might already be running suicide sprints even as we speak, er, type. I especially wouldn't want to be the two who fell off the floor. I can understand falling off a four-inch balance beam. Or missing the high bar after turning a flip or two. But falling off the floor makes sucking take on a whole new meaning. I know it's early. We've got a long way to go. And an SEC contest next Friday night in hostile territory. Sigh.