Dry Spell's Over

A good friend asked me today if I was "excited" about the upcoming Red Sox season. (Yeah, it's an icy crusted frozen over hell in New England, but pitchers and catchers report in 14 days.) It's a valid question. Anytime over the last five years, this question was utterly unnecessary as it was assumed by everyone who knew me even a little bit that the answer was yes yes oh very excited red sox yes. But last year, we won the big bonanza. And it changes things, yeah, it does. So I want to explain it like this:

Maybe there's a guy going through a dry spell (sorry to be sexist ladies, but let's face it if a woman's going through a dry spell she doesn't have to do much to turn that shit around). A really long, really dry, we're talking years, really hard, dry spell. He know he's got good stuff, and he's gotten real close a couple of times, but the girl of his dreams just isn't giving it up for him.

But finally, finally! she fucks him. And it's amazing and powerful and better than anything he'd imagined alone in his bunk all those nights. And then camp ends and they go their separate ways for the year just like always. Now, is this guy excited for next summer? You bet he is. He's just a little less nervous and a little less sweaty--and god knows she's far from being a sure thing--but he's been there before, and he knows how the inside of her body feels, and for that reason he's going to walk into camp a little bit differently... ready to get that magic stirred up again.

So yeah, I'm excited.