Like any addict knows, you get your fix however you can. My drug of choice? Semi-pro football. My husband's friend - Number 50 - was my in. I didn't expect to like it, mostly agreeing because Number 50 is all the talk on the team and my daughter has a huge crush on him. That and he's a sweetheart of a guy. But like it I did and now I have to weasel my way to another game without my husband thinking it's me who has a crush on Number 50. Tuesdays fix...Patriot's Training Camp.
Seriously, I must have a screw loose. I worried, worried more than is strictly acceptable that the Red Sox would do some super secret trading with Bill Mueller and that Richard Seymour will be a big jerky holdout with the Pats.
And then I read Vanity Fair and found myself not hating Martha Stewart quite as much as I used to. And hating the War in Iraq even more.
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