Decades of Futility

I would consider this a good title for my memoirs, but here I refer to my alma mater's football team. I was on hand tonight as my team lost in overtime. So close, yet...

Thanks for the support, ladies. I'll nominate the lot of you for Kentucky Colonel status. If you were looking for me in the stands, you wouldn't have known me. I was deep cover. Two days growth on my face, and I left the wig and mascara at home. I did wear black pantyhose and black patterned tights as part of a layering scheme to ward off the chill, but ESPN wasn't using their see-thru technology for this game. If I had been prescient enough to know the outcome in advance, I might've done full-on Leslie with a paper bag for my head. I was 20 the last time my Cats beat Tennessee, more than half a lifetime ago.

When we arrived at the stadium, I spent a few minutes watching all the pretty women walking by. Boots were very popular today. Aaah, boots. My brother was amused by me. At one point, I watched a woman for a long while from above.

Me: There's a look. A Pepto-Bismol mid-thigh length coat with matching stilettos.
He: Right up your alley. Especially the stilettos. You'd be 6'8".
Me: Well, closer to 6'6". I don't go for platforms.

He has settled into routine teasing on the gender subject now, which means he's perfectly comfortable with his brother's "differences". It's just one more thing to gently mock. Very healthy, very natural.