Tagged by Blog O' Beth.

And I like the Blog O' Beth and she provided a nifty little graphic, so I'm going to do it.

I'm supposed to write five predictions for the new year. I like guessing games and this is one, so...

1. I predict The Tank will learn to use the potty by March, no matter what he says. "I said nooooo, thanks!" "I can't like dat potty." "I don't care my potty." "Dat potty's not for me." Lies. All lies.


2. I predict these artists, The Half and Half, will become wildly successful. Your political views notwithstanding, I love the print below, which we bought a few months ago and my husband had framed as a Christmas gift to our family. Barack Obama will be the first political candidate my two oldest children remember supporting and, in case you hadn't heard, he is our first non-white president. About damn time.




3. I predict my marriage will get fun again. Seasoned parents, we've finally realized we don't get along with a toddler in the house. In fact, if we ever do this again, I will suggest separating and sharing custody from the time the toddler is one and a half until he acts like a human, around three. Then we can get back together. Also, my husband's father died this year, which was rough. And, I started working more for the first time in our marriage. Tough year, y'all. Good thing we're both funny as hell.
   


4. I predict the real estate market will go wild and these excellent realtors I know in Columbia, South Carolina will make so much money they'll take me and my family on a tour of Europe.


5. I predict I'll be about the same weight and look about a year older one year from now.

And I'm tagging...Faith the Atomic Blonde, Lisa of Blonde Appetit and Sam of Baan Sawan Thai Bistro. I predict they might not do this thing, but I hope they do, because I think it's fairly entertaining.

In other news, today is New Year's Day and, out of silly superstition and fear, I rushed to the store at the last minute and bought the ingredients for the easiest good luck meal ever. Should you ever be in the same desperate situation, please return to this post.

Black Eyed Peas (Not Quite Hoppin' John)

Buy a 2 pound bag of frozen black-eyed peas. Dump half of them in a pot with 2-3 cloves chopped garlic, a can of Rotel tomatoes and about a cup of water, enough to cover the peas. Bring them to a boil, turn down the heat and let them simmer until they're tender, a little over an hour.

Serve over rice. I used the ready-made frozen kind from Trader Joe's. Hell yeah. Sprinkle crispy onions from a can on top.

Collard Greens

I stole this idea from the brilliant Tracie, with whom I took an excellent New Year's Day walk along the river earlier. The walk was followed by lunch with my family and Tracie at Liberty Tap Room where we watched the Gamecocks act stupid and I enjoyed a scrumptious Red, White and Bleu Burger. My husband was cracking jokes about people from Iowa being "Idiots Out Walking Around." That idiot shared the joke with some local judges, who happen to be Iowa fans. I had to point out that Iowans have been doing more than walking around. They have been playing football, unlike some teams I know. But I digress. Collards...

Heat a splash of olive oil and a few spoonfuls of Miso in a pot. I bought Garlic Red Pepper Miso at Rosewood Market recently and I love it so much I want to marry it. Add a chopped onion, some soy sauce and a splash or three of vinegar. I used cider vinegar because I had it, but rice wine vinegar would be just ducky. Add an a**load of sliced collards to the pot, wilting them as you go so everything fits. The X-Man and I bought four bunches and used them all. His New Year's Resolution is to eat at least one vegetable a day, which he apparently has not been doing. Do I get that Mother of the Year Award now?

Cook them until they're done and add more vinegar and/or soy to taste.

Pork Roast

Put a boneless, 2 1/2 pound pork roast in a Reynold's oven bag with 1/4 cup of something liquid. I used Shealey's Bar-B-Que Vinegar and Pepper Sauce.

Make a sauce out of shallots, jelly, ketchup, vinegar and some seasoning. I added equal parts ketchup and Cherchie's Lem'n Hot Pepper Jelly to the pot, heated them and added about 1/3 cup chopped shallots. I know shallots are fancy, but they're milder than red or yellow onions and hold up better than green onions. Then I splashed in some vinegar until it tasted right. The sauce simmered for a while. I have no idea how long, so don't ask. I didn't add any seasoning, because the Lem'n Hot Pepper Jelly was interesting enough. You could use apricot, orange or apple jelly and add chili powder. Oh, wait. I lied. I used a little garlic salt.

The roast will take about an hour and a half to cook - the directions come in the box of Reynold's Oven Bags, which rock. You can make the other stuff during that hour and a half. You can also drink about a half bottle of Chardonnay, which I did. Mwah!

Namasté and Happy New Year, y'all!

Gameday musings...

In grand old Gamecock tradition, I'd like to offer yet another explanation for their recent loss. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present My Husband's Fake Enthusiasm. The Gamecocks can feel it. He's mocking them and it's not good. He likes to say things like,

"Why the h*ll are you gonna' pundt?"

at totally inappropriate times, in a fake, aging frat boy voice. Now, there is nothing in the world wrong with being an aging frat boy. And it's not okay to make fun of anyone, even aging frat boys. Even the ones who wear baseball hats inside. With pleated pants. It's definitely not okay to make fun of the Gamecocks. They're trying their best. I guess. My husband, by the way, semi-endorses my theory and has pledged to stop being so mean.

We ran into some fun people at the game. Highlights included, but were certainly not limited to, the following.

• Drunk lady with a great body in the parking lot, making out with her boyfriend. I thought she looked good for forty, until I saw her friends and realized she was a rough looking twenty four. One of her handsome companions spent a good amount of time finishing off whatever was left in every liquor bottle, cup or wine box he threw away. Gold star for cleaning up and not being wasteful, sir!
• The drunk guy sitting beside me. You know, the one with the tattoos and the muscle t. he told me, "Errrrbody in this stadium s'drunk." I told him I was not and pointed out my children. I do not get drunk in public in front of the children. That's a Mommy of the Year no-no. We usually sit in the Zone. Sitting in the stands was an interesting cultural experience.
• The Super Positive Guy behind us. Loved his enthusiasm, really. He yelled his head off for everything, but he kept it positive. No matter how awful the Gamecocks did, he was okay with it. "That's alright! You'll get 'em this time boys!" He would make an excellent life coach. Conversation between him and his friend, both of whom spoke English as a first language.
  
  Positive Guy: What does it say about USC that you only have to have a 76 out of 120 on the TOEFL to get in?
  
  PG's Friend: Man, I didn't even have to take that one.
  
  Positive Guy was too polite to respond.
  

• The many, many guys who think they can be heard by Steve Spurrier over everyone else in the stadium. And that they know exactly how the game should go, play for play.
• The drunk guy who needed to get out of his car to tell the traffic cop how to do his job. It would seem that drunk guy, who was thankfully a passenger, not the driver, felt that he had waited long enough. So we all got to wait longer. Thank you, drunk guy.
• More than a few people who wanted to be sure if it was "hot enough for us." Yes, thanks.

I sincerely hope my girls from the gym can whip those boys into shape by next week. I hear Spurrier does Pilates for his golf game. When does he have time to play golf?

For actual more in depth coverage of my beloved Cocks*, take a look at Side Line Magazine. Good stuff.

Namasté, y'all!

* That's what he said.

How 'BOUT Them Cocks?!!!!!

It was the jeans...I swear it was the jeans...

Most Auspicious, Indeed

Today, I went to Mary and Martha's*, a way cool kitchen store. The store is small, but filled with every perfect gadget you could ever want (deodorizers for the dispose-all!) and some other great stuff, too. A week ago, most auspiciously, a coupon for 25% off one thing landed in my mailbox. So I went there today today to buy a wedding present. As I was making my decision, several little gadget thingies that I had to have made their way behind the counter. After two phone calls to my dear, tortured husband and a debate or two with the lovely ladies of Mary and Martha's, I decided on a pottery bowl (oven to table) for the happy couple. If they hate it, I'll never know, because we don't live near them, but I hope they like it. These are the things I got for me:

One totally cute party apron, with pockets.


One totally useful travel knife, with sheaf, the last one left in one of my favorite kitchen colors.

One cool pizza cutter, which I hope works a lot better than my old one.


One cute little bamboo cutting board, which I've already used to cut apples for the kids' tuna salad. Notice that it is displayed with the background of the cool apron.


And here is the present, which you can't see, because it's wrapped. But how cool is it that their paper is black? And how cool is the apron background?



Most auspiciously, as I was leaving, one of the ladies remembered that, for whatever reason, I was to be a given a chance to win a prize. Prizes are the best. And, in this contest, one was guaranteed a prize. I reached my hand into the jar, shuffled the cards around (Why did I shuffle? Dunno, must have been instinct) and pulled out a card. I won a 12 cup French Coffee Press. Most! Auspicious! We use a 12 cup press every day, but you never know when they will break, so this was a perfect prize for me.

And that's not all...

As I was browsing the mall in my kitchen tonight, I wandered into Endless.com. And there I found a pair of shoes I've been rocking since Spring**. My sister has a pair of sandals that always look awesome. I borrowed them once and was compelled to seek them out on Ebay within hours. They look good with everything. They make us look thinner, if it's possible for a mere pair of shoes to do that. And they are totally comfortable, in spite of the fact that they're platform heels. Wisely, my sister bought another pair, exactly the same, when we found them on sale at the mall. Why I did not buy another pair for myself, I will never know. She wears both of them regularly; I'm guessing she saves the newer ones to wear with skirts and to fancy parties. Anyhow, I came upon my shoes, on sale for half price. I emailed my sister (and followed up with a phone call twelve seconds later) to see if she, in her infinite wisdom, thought I should buy another pair. More importantly, I wanted to return the favor and give her the opportunity to order an awesome pair of shoes. We both got the shoes for a great price, most auspiciously.

So...in conclusion...you know what this means for the Gamecocks. GAME!

Namasté, y'all!

*Yet another bonus of shopping local: Baby J was asleep in the stroller and the ladies actually lowered their voices so he would stay asleep. And they let me leave him in the store when I had to go to my car to get a calling card to put in the wedding present. Tip of the day: Keep your engraved calling cards in the car, in case you buy a present unexpectedly.

**By the way, I We have the brown ones. We don't like the black ones. And I bought my original pair at Kicks, which I'm telling you so you don't think I make a habit of internet shopping. I really do try to shop local, but a deal's a deal.

Most Auspicious Event!

Today is my luckiest day ever. Well, maybe not ever, but it is a very lucky day.

On Friday, I was at the awesome M Boutique where, years ago, I first heard Cool from Gwen Stefani's album Love.Angel.Music.Baby. That song puts me in a great mood, as does the rest of the album - great music to shop to, by the way. I wasn't looking for anything in particular but (surprise!) found a pair of jeans I loved. Unfortunately, they were a size too big. The super stylish and super nice owner, Emily, was there and I asked her to call me if they got returned in my size. She was pretty sure they wouldn't be, because her friend bought them. Oh, well. Wait, do you really think this is the end?

I'm so predictable. Once I couldn't have them, I had to have them. They became the jeans that would change my life. I searched all over. I found them online, but not in my size. Then, I found them in my size, but they were more expensive, plus I would have to pay shipping, which I couldn't bring myself to do, because I'm cheap. And I really prefer to shop local stores. But, given that these jeans would change my life, just as other jeans before them had done, I had to have them. Judging from past history, I feel sure I would have caved and bought them, overpriced or not, but something better was in store. Prepare to be amazed. You will be filled with wonder at the synchronicity at work in the Universe. And you will understand fully that the jeans were made for me and me, alone (well, me and all of the other people who bought them).

On my way to pick up the big kids from school, I had a few minutes to spare and, on a whim, decided to go to M one more time, looking for a miracle. Lo and behold, there they were, in my size, on the counter...being returned. Do you have chills? I did. She was returning them because she just had a baby and didn't want to deal with having them hemmed. It took me four seconds to get over the fact that I wear the same size jeans as someone who just had a baby (she looked really good - that helped!) I tried them on, even though I already knew we were meant to be a couple. It took me another four seconds to resolve the moral dilemma of whether to tell the new mother that there was a drop-in nursery not five minutes from one of the best and quickest tailors in town. It was easy, because she didn't have her baby with her, so she must have child care already.

Thus, the jeans are mine, all mine, and we are destined to have a long and rocking relationship; I can feel it. And it's my lucky day, so I need to go buy a lottery ticket or two. I bet I can have them hemmed in time to wear them for the Gamecocks on Thursday night, so I'm pretty sure we know who'll win that one (Go ahead and place your bets. So what if Kentucky's ranked eighth in the nation?) And tonight's Bunco night, so look out, ladies, I'm on a roll!

Namasté, y'all!

Game!

In honor of yesterday's game (GO COCKS!!), I'm going to tell you a story, a story that I believe will give you a real feel for what it means to be a Gamecock.

A few years ago, I was glamorously employed as a background person in a series of exercise videos. It was actually a lot of fun. I've never had an actual job*, so it was pretty cool to be the returning hero for a couple of weeks; I was the one the kids were excited to see at the end of the day, not boring old Daddy. And, I must admit, it was pretty relaxing to hang out with grownups for eight to ten hours a day. The catering was another perk (and so Hollywood!) We were exercising all day, albeit in short spurts, so I had to eat like crazy to keep from losing too much weight. At one point, I did a rough calculation and realized I was eating about the same amount as a high school athlete - and losing weight - every mother's dream! The taste of peanut M&M's, shoveled into the mouth by the handful between takes, I will never forget. But, I digress. The videos were filmed at a studio in an old, not-so-genteel part of town, very near Williams-Brice Stadium, Home of the Fighting Gamecocks. The producers had leased a big warehouse, behind a taxi company, down the street from Sonic and across the street from some actual houses.

As it happened, we were filming on the day of the Gamecocks' first game of the season. On that day, my friend (who was a background drudge like me, but also an assistant to the producer/director and choreographer, so much more important than I) was outside having a cigarette. Yup, plenty of fitness people smoke, including my trainer. How do you think they stay so thin? As it happened, she was out there with a very quiet and shy guy from the film crew. The contrast between the crew and us exercise-y people was fun. They were professionals and we were boring housewives. Did I mention the videos were going to be marketed to the ancient, thirty five and up crowd? No? That's probably because I wanted you to think I was some kind of jock. In fact, I was instructed not to mention my age, as I was not yet thirty five. My age was irrelevant; I was the only one without Botox and/or enhanced tatas, so they all looked younger than I did anyway. The film crew was disappointed; many of them had worked on exercise videos for regular people. According to one of the guys, who I knew from my bar-hopping pre-kids days, he was just disappointed that we were all married. He said we were all good looking enough, just married, with kids. I think he was being kind (Thank you, George!) I think they would have preferred hotter, younger exercise ladies.

The crew was made up of really cool people - the kind of people who make me wonder what might have been if I had grown a pair and tried harder instead of having babies and buying couches all the time. They were a lot of fun, and smart as hell to boot. But. I. Digress.

My friend (picture a glamorous blonde who was mistaken, while in New York City, for Kim Catrall) was outside smoking and was joined by one of the crew members. He was the strong, silent type and very cute, in a scruffy band guy/but smart kind of way. The kind of boy who makes me nostalgic for my misspent youth...and almost immediately happy that it's over. This guy never talked, ever, unlike my friend, who's a talker like me. As she tells it, they smoked in silence for quite a while before he turned, ever so slightly, toward her and said, out of the side of his Cool Alt Boy mouth, "Look across the street. You gotta' look." After she recovered from the shock of hearing him speak, she looked.

Across the street was a house, a bit dilapidated, but definitely a house. In the yard of the house was some stuff. A lot of stuff. With price tags on it. In front of the house was a hand-lettered sign, advertising a (fairly obvious) yard sale. Cool Alt Boy informed my friend that they'd been out there every day, the whole time we were filming. It was not clear to him or anyone else whether they were out there year round or just while we were there. The extended yard sale was not enough, though, to make Cool Alt Boy speak. That sort of thing is not exactly unheard of where I'm from. The thing that forced him to speak, pushed him over the edge, was the person in charge of the till.

She was pregnant, so pregnant that she was ready to pop, by anyone's calculation. She was at the stage of pregnancy where it's no longer risky to ask, "When are you due, honey?" She was wearing cutoff jeans, not abnormal in this part of the country, and a belly-baring halter top, also not abnormal 'round these parts. I'm pretty sure none of these things would have forced Cool Alt Boy to speak. The thing that rendered him incapable of not sharing (his girlfriend would have been jealous!) was the fact that the ripe young lady had the word "COCKS" painted across her belly. As in, I say, "GAME," you say "COCKS!!!!!"

All I'm asking you to do is picture it. I wish I had a photograph, but I don't, because I was inside at the All-You-Can-Eat Peanut M&M bar. It doesn't matter if she was a true Gamecock or just trying to drum up business. Being a Gamecock is all about being proud and showing the love, without shame. When I say, "GAME," you better yell, "COCKS!!!!"

Namasté, y'all!

* By the way, it just dawned on me: I once said I never wanted to have a full time job. I'm pretty old and I don't have one yet. Let's see how far I can go with this.

It's Good to Drink and Blog So Other People Know What You're Really Like

So, it's Game Day again. Which means I'll get a few text messages from my siblings reading "Game!" In case you don't know, us Gamecocks like to yell "Game!" at each other. The only proper response is "Cocks!" If you ever get a text message that says "Game!", you'll know how to respond.

A true Gamecock cannot resist the call. I was in Atlanta one weekend with my sister. It was a game weekend and, as I was driving away from the chichi little café where we had brunch, I yelled to her on the sidewalk. "Game!" Much to the surprise of the sophisticated Atlantaians still eating outside, she screamed her response, "COCKS! WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I also like to call out of town Gamecocks on their cell phones, just so I can get them to yell "Cocks!" on a bus or street corner.

I didn't go to tonight's game because O mentioned a week ago that he really wanted to go to the game against S.C. State. Since I never have a clue who they're playing, it seemed only fair that I let him go with his Dad. I stayed home, suffering like mad, with the two younger monkeys. Eh. If you know me, you know I wasn't suffering. I went to Yoga while the lovely neighbor girl kept them. Then I took Baby J and the X-Man to a Japanese restaurant, because the X-man wanted squid salad. And I wanted sashimi and a nice glass of dry white wine. Just so you feel a tiny bit sorry for me, please know that Baby J wasn't interested in the fried tofu I got for him, the toy provided by the restaurant staff, my cell phone or the dude with the mohawk at the next table, so I had to let him crawl around on the floor, while I tried to follow a conversation with the X-Man.

I was asking him what he liked best, out of all the food he ordered. He said, "Actually, I have to say, everything on my plate: the Dragon roll, the eel, the California roll, the ginger, the crab...well, everything but the Wasabi. On AFV, that's America's Funniest Home Videos, the guy ate all of the Wasabi and he was like [insert insane gagging six year old face here]. But I didn't see it. It was on YouTube. You can watch it on YouTube, where they have the laughing babies. For my lunch, at school, I want the rest of Baby J's fried tofu, like the piece that I ate a little bit of, and some eel and California rolls and Dragon rolls and especially ginger, because I looooooove ginger."

Around the time I realized Baby J was using my purse as a doggie bag for his used tofu, a couple I know from the neighborhood walked in. They were on a date. With other grownups. I don't know them that well, so I was trying to act sort of like I think normal people act. I thought that if I didn't look at the floor, they might not notice Baby J. I thought I could portray myself as a sophisticated, together-type mom of three. Do you think it worked? I do not.

Drinking and driving is so totally not cool, so I waited until I got home to have another glass of wine, some leftover sparkling we had in the fridge. And, because I'm such a stellar mom, I waited until the boys went to bed to start in on the rest of the bottle. I had to call my friend J in Mississippi so I wouldn't be drinking alone. Classy, huh? She had to go, because her son had just gotten home from the longest play date ever, so here I am. And here are the text messages between me and my dear husband, who's still at the game. Commentary in brackets. Did you really think I could do this without commentary? I don't even brush my teeth without commentary.:

Me: score? of game and of fun.

Him: Game: 17-3 us. Fun: 24-0 us.

Me: Aw.

Him: sC state has a great band & cheerleaders [This is because he knows that's all I care about. I'm the only person who stays in my seat for half time. And I love marching bands. Drumline is one of my favorite movies and I have no recollection of the plot.]

Moi: I wish I was there just for the band and cheerleaders. Is the flag dude in the house? [At the first game, I was pleasantly surprised to see that one of the Flag chicks at half time was a dude, mostly because it gave A and me a chance to crack ourselves up. And my dear husband indulged me by discussing it for at least four minutes.]

Lui: No flag dude sighted yet. How's X Man?

Moi: So...it's not half time? [the Flag...um.."People" don't show themselves until halftime.] Y'all seen anyone we know yet?

Lui: Flag Dude!!!??? Where are u?!?!?!!!!??

Lui: He's MIA

Lui: Never mind. He's on the opposite side!! [I know my husband is cool, because he's willing to devote this many texts to the flag dude.]

Moi: YESSSSSS!!! Flag DUDE!!!

Lui: 2d half just started. We seen D & A, Uncle J, Aunt K, Cousin M, Cousin W, Uncle D, The P's, back o "John's*" head (he's with daughter) [All those Aunts, Uncles, and cousins are mine. I have tons and they love them some football. My dad and brother were there too. My husband's family is too fancy European for our American style football. By the way, A doesn't really say "we seen." He was being funny.]

Lui: Flag dude yes. Pregnant looking co-eds yes. [Ladies, empire waist is not for everyone.] Yoga turd no. [This is a guy, whose nickname I cannot explain here, who was at a game and totally, maniacally into it, in spite of his Yogic leanings. I hope he never reads this, because he's really rather nice.]

Moi: No more wife? [Referring back to "John" who was at the previous game with his wife, who we heard had left him. This is an interesting situation and I would like to know more. Plain and simple, I'm nosy. He does have good seats, so maybe she's rethinking her actions. I know I would. But I wouldn't cheat on my husband in the first place; I'm too lazy and he's awesome, so what would be the point? I guess some people's husbands are not awesome.]

Lui: Nope

Moi: i m bored and kind of drunk. was talking to J [friend who recently moved to Mississippi] on phone, so not drinking alone.

Lui: Stuck in traffic. Be home in 2 hours [This is also a joke.]

Moi: Eff! [Joke. Again. Dwight said it on the Office and it's funny.]

And now he's home.

Namasté, y'all!

*Some names have been changed, because...just because.

Letter to the Annoying Guy Who Sat Behind Us at the Game

Dear Sir,

You may not have noticed me Saturday at the game. I was sitting in front of you, in the Zone, where the people are supposed to be a little nicer, because the seats are so expensive. Yeah, I didn't pay for mine, either, but we can all act kind of classy, can't we?

Your voice is loud. Too loud. Even if you had just been talking about, say, football it would have been annoying. Your friend's voice was not quite as loud, but annoying in its constant presence.

If your voice is that loud, it's especially annoying when you use the "F" word over and over and over. I know that word. I occasionally use it, in private of course, so I didn't need the tutorial. If my children had been with me, I would have asked you to stop, but we left them at home, so I suffered in silence.

By the way, did you know gambling was illegal? It is. According to my husband, you are well versed in all the gambling terms and must be a real addict pro. Perhaps you were trying to brag by talking, loudly, into your cell phone about the $4800 you put on some team or another. Perhaps you would like to hear how much I'm about to spend on my new couch. No? Oh, well.

I know I probably should choose a career one of these days, but I didn't appreciate your monologue on the finer points of selling cars. The parts about units and only having twenty six days a month to sell cars were terribly boring to the uninitiated uninterested. I really didn't like the part about the dumb B-ch who works at the same dealership you do and is worthless. Tell it to your manager and try to use nicer language. Just a suggestion. I also didn't need to hear, in great detail, how you and your buddy were planning to school the new guy. I think he might do just fine without the benefit of your great wisdom. My least favorite thing about car dealers is how they talk so much you can't think. And I'm the primary car buyer in my family, so you might want to reconsider your attitude towards us dumb B--ches.

My husband likes to look at attractive women. I even point them out to him. Heck, I like looking at attractive women. But I feel compelled to mention to you what it took me years to teach my husband: Be cool, idiot. Don't stare with glazed eyes and don't wonder aloud if the lady in question is "legal." And, above all, do not ask the woman in front of you (that would be me) how old she thinks one of your targets is. That was just creepy.

I am sorry you forgot your belt. Even though you didn't need to say it loudly enough for everyone to hear, I do understand how such a thing could be annoying. I hate it when I, for example, forget to wear earrings. I do hope it didn't ruin the game for you.

Lastly, if you cannot take any of my kind advice and file it away for future reference, you may want to avoid referring to the specific dealership that employs you (S***. How could I forget? You said it about a hundred times.)

In hopes of tempering the negative tone of my letter, I would like to thank you for not being the guy who feels compelled to shout very specific instructions to the coach and players, even though there's no way they could hear him. That guy is really annoying. I also must admit that you have provided mildly interesting fodder for our post-game chats. I thank you for that.

Anyhow, thanks for listening. I did have a good time and I hope you did, too. It's always nice when they win, even if they should have won a little better. Go, Gamecocks!

Sincerely,

The Lady Who Sat in Front of You at the Game


P.S. Namasté, Sir.