And then I CRUSHED R at racquetball.
Truly, just completely crushed him. Like a bug. A loveable bug, sure, but a bug nonetheless. I ground his fragile ego beneath my ironshod heel and then I called his momma to brag about it. Women, gathering to witness the event, swooned. THEY SWOONED.
Oh, hang on.
That's the exact opposite of what happened.
I, gentle reader, was the one who was completely crushed. My ego, mine own, was ground beneath his rubbershod heels. I believe he may actually have phoned my momma to brag about it. There were no women. There was no swooning (actually, there WERE women, but by the looks on their faces I think they were mostly impatiently waiting for us to finish. It's like swooning, I guess...).
I am the bug in this story, friend.
A loveable little bug.
Seriously, 'twas all in good fun, and really just an excuse to run around for an hour, and a tip o' the hat to Sir R for joining me on this particular bit of the Sacramento Adventure.
And for crushing me like a bug (15-6, 15-2, 15-4).