To Me, Baseball Means a Hotdog in One Hand and a Cold Beer in the Other. What Exactly Am I Supposed to Do with This Glove-Thingy Again?

Yeah, we didn't have a Top Ten Recipes yesterday. I know. I'm sorry, but it's been One of THOSE Weeks - jam-packed with Stuff of Enormous Importance and Time Suckage. Yes, indeedy. Let's do Top Ten Summer Fruits Recipes next week, okay? Your favorite fruit salads, pies, cakes, cobblers and what-have-you that utilize the ripe berries and melons and so-ons of the summer season. Sound good?

And speaking of Stuff of Enormous Importance, I will have you to know that I went to my first-ever organized-ish sports meeting tonight - as a parent.

My daughter is going to learn how to play baseball, y'all.

I know. It makes me clutch at my chest a little, too. And it will no doubt provide you hours of endless hootin' and howlin' because, get this: the class requires full-time interactive parent participation. From, like, me.

You know, I think y'all need a minute to mull that over in your heads.

Are you visualizing?

Got the image up yet?

(Here, lemme give you a little help in the way of sound effects: Waddle waddle waddle, zzzzzzzzzzzzzhip, WHONK. Ow! Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow...)

Yes, come next Friday, I feel quite confident that you will be reading something plenty humiliatin' about yours truly and a Nerf® baseball and grass stains and perhaps even a few lacerations and contusions and if we're lucky, thankfully only a mild sprain. Mark my words, people.

But my kid, she's not like me, a fact for which I am eternally grateful. She has balance, and poise and aim and grace. Compared to her bumbling clod of a mother, this child is an ambidexterous gazelle with a wicked fast ball.

And speaking of horned, hooved animals, I'm reviewing MOOSE I mean MOUSSE over at Chic Critique today. Trot on over and have a few more laughs at my expense. I'm not proud.

Y'all have a good Friday. And watch out for errant baseballs outta nowhere - I'ma be practicin' m'skillz over the weekend.