Foreplay

Wow, look at my right leg move of its own volition through this thick mud! Who knew it could bend that way? Hey, look at me, I’m doing a split! Um, wait, fuck, it kinda hurts….

Such were my thoughts as, while wearing inappropriate footwear not intended for slick riverbank terrain, I slipped on the muddy trail to the river opening. We had just finished browsing museum displays and were headed toward the parking lot when we were pleasantly surprised to meet a watershoe-wearing mustached man surreptitiously renting river tubes.

“Ladies? Interested?” He flicked his eyebrows up and down, flashing a smarmy grin, and my friends and I looked at each other, all wordlessly communicating the same thing:

I hope he’s talking about tubes.

We nodded our heads and plunked down $20 dollar bills.

Of course we rented tubes and floated down the river, whattya think? It was July Fourth, the sun was peeking through the mottled clouds and dense tree-lined riverbank, and groups of drinking revelers were floating, listening to Kenny Chesney, and encouraging us to join the party. I mean, it was a Must-Float situation. I of course was wearing an expensive Modern Citizen sundress and strappy sandals, but I try not to let garments determine spontaneous fun. I would have floated down that river in a ball gown. I took off the sandals and enjoyed my float.

Our river float is not the subject of this blog, nor is the amount of alcohol we consumed. It’s just that I’m sure many of you will wake up groggy on Monday morning like me, so I want to publish something fun and easy on the mind. So without further ado, here is yet another installment of:

Mary Catching the Smoke on Instagram For Something She Posted While Drinking

On this golf meme account I follow, there was a video of a beautiful, young, leggy blonde girl crushing her drive down the fairway. Her swing was o.k., nothing special, but it was her skirt that got the most attention. She had to have been over six-feet tall, and the pink skirt she was wearing was halfway up her bajingo. Every male comment had to do with her phyical appearance. Fine. So I wrote:

“Stop advertising ‘golf babes’ with bad swings no one cares.”

Did I mention I was drinking at the time? I don’t know why I posted it, sometimes I just amuse no one else but myself. It’s one of the unfortunate perks of being me.

Yep, you guessed it. Hell-fire rained down.

I actually got 67 likes for my comment, and a lot of support. Most of the negative comments directed back at me politely dared me to post a video of my own swing, but I demurred, insisting that my contract with the LPGA forbids me from doing so.

Strange how no one bought that.

I received hundreds of comments. Here are some colorful ones for your enjoyment:

• You sound salty and thirsty at the same time. Hate less, write your little blog and leave it to us to rate the babe factor.
• Stick to being “the Not-It Girl.”
• Relax a tad, sweetie, get that blog written.
• Easy on the jelly save some room for the peanut butter, blog girl.
• Pipe down, Karen.
• She’d smoke you Not It Bitch.
• What a cunty thing to say. Who are you to tell another page what to post? Stay on your own website.
• They just horny. Nice blog.
• Yeah, tell it to your twelve blog followers.
• Pipe down little miss middle-aged spread Not It Girl.

I just received a message from my marketing team, informing me that I gained 126 more readers in the 24 hours since that post.

And that, my friends, is what we in the blogging biz like to call Search Engine Optimization.