I don’t know why I have been cranky for the past couple of weeks. Could it be the weather? Nothing like experiencing three different seasons in one month’s time. Could it be my knees? After 30 years of wearing high heels, they finally had enough and I am now in physical therapy twice a week. I am not sure what is at the root of this malaise, but I am sure unloading some of the other annoyances of the week will help.
Donald Trump. I am not talking about his politics, just his appearance. How is it possible that the man who owns the rights to the Miss USA pageant cannot get a decent haircut or spray tan? Seriously, he can ask any one of the contestants for a recommendation. Next year, one of the judges’ questions should be, How would you, if given the opportunity, perform a makeover on Donald Trump? Forget world peace, fix Trump’s piece.
U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team. How excited were you when the team won the World Cup? They beat Japan and became the first women’s team to have a ticker tape parade in New York City! Sports Illustrated featured each player on her very own cover! Nearly 26.7 million people tuned in to watch this final game, which shattered the viewing record for any TV soccer match. Could it have been any better? Well, yes, it could. There is the money thing. It seems the winners of the women’s World Cup make substantially less than the men. True, money isn’t everything, but can we all agree the difference between the women’s $2 million purse and the $35 million the men’s team won seems a little unfair?
Serena Williams. You can call me a hypocrite for what I am about to say, given the fact that I just made fun of Donald Trump’s looks, but who are these morons critiquing Serena Williams’ physique? I mean comments like: She is too muscular. Her legs look like a man’s. She is not feminine enough. Thanks, New York Times, for your column ‘Tennis’s Top Women Balance Body Image with Ambition,’ because that really needed to be said. My suggestion? You can talk about Serena Williams’ body only if you can return her 122 mph serve or withstand the pain of being hit by one of her tennis balls.
Bill McClellan. How can he retire? I won’t allow it. Bill is unaware I pretended I was his friend in real life. Our sons played soccer together at Clayton High School, and I spent many afternoons sitting in the stands with him. I found myself starting sentences with, “I saw Bill the other day and he …” Yes, I tried to trade on his celebrity. I didn’t always agree with his opinion in the paper, but I sure did enjoy reading it.
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