Last year I was so glad to have continuous sports events to watch while I was lying around recovering from the birth, figuring out how to make Jackson breastfeed before he starved to death, and staring in disbelief at my cellulite (couldn’t miss it, it was too hot to wear long pants). (Just so you know, new mothers need big butts — stored fat turns into breastmilk. Somehow. I’m not a scientist!) Two weeks of Wimbledon dovetailed nicely into three weeks of Tour de France, then we had a little pause for milkshakes before the U.S. Open. Then two planes flew into the World Trade Center and I was afraid to turn the television off for the next six months.
This summer? Watch Wimbeldon? Ha. The only thing I know about tennis right now is that Venus and Serena scare the shit out of everyone they play, and that poor little Timmy Henman is a “mummy’s boy.”
[link via Simon]