When I went to Catholic high school in Philadelphia, we just had one coach for football and basketball. He took all of us who turned out and had us run through a forest. The ones who ran into the trees were on the football team.
Well, I was happy to see the Colts win the Super Bowl last night and Peyton Manning finally win his first championship. I remember him from his days playing at Tennessee, and I did always like him. Plus he's a cutie, and he and his brother rolled up their sleeves and helped out New Orlean a lot after Hurricane Katrina last year.
Hey, how many romance novels do you think feature pro atheletes as the hero? I remember this discussion on a blog somewhere a while back, and I think the answer was close to zero, for a variety of reasons: they have no time, they're too in love with themselves, they aren't the "typical" romantic hero in our society. What do you think?
OK, so somehow I let my husband convince me to take a defensive driving class, the next two Monday nights. Yeah, yeah, I know it will lower our car insurance. But the last thing I want to do on a Monday night in February is spend 3½ hours watching videos of car crashes and listening to someone talk about the correct way to pass and merge.
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t be so irritated about it. It’s a good thing, right? Everyone should probably be mandated to take the course, on a regular basis. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure those women driving their SUVs down the road while on their cell phones and checking on their kids in the back seat and weaving in and out of lanes at 85 miles an hour could use a reminder about safe driving.
But Monday night?? Now I have to miss Prison Break (and you *know* how much that pains me). I'll be sitting there listening to strategies for safe merging and dreaming of Wentworth Miller heating up the screen with his doctor love. Darn it.