It happened by accident.
We had all gathered at the lakehouse…family meeting. After all the jabbering about financial stuff and other incidentals, the brothers went in the teevee room. I went down to the pier. I wanted to see if anyone else came up for the weekend…the summer people…although it is early. It is usually just a scattering of people her and there until Memorial Day which is the unofficial summer season kick-off.
An hour later I walked into the house, past the teevee room, and WHAM! There he was, his head filling the entire big screen! A CAVEMAN!
“Who is that?!” I say, my tongue licking the floor.
“Oh no. Here we go again.” My high-school-basketball/tennis-star brother is onto me. “What? No boyfriend Annie?”
“Haha…Pollard” I am reading the caveman’s shirt as he dribbles down the court. “Look at that goatee…it’s too wide, too rangy…just too much!”
I am not really into basketball. Well, I did grow up under the 7-year dynasty of Michael Jordan and the Bulls. I went to a lot of games at The United Center with the family and with boyfriends. It was cool. Very tall men, lots of energy, and mopping up all of the mansweat flooding the hardwood court…who wouldn’t want to see that? Glistening men…wheehoo!
So now I am snuggled on the couch glued eyeball-to-eyeball with Pollard. First name Scot, one “t.” It is a playoff game against the Utah Jazz. There are Russian/Slavic men with those “ich” names. I didn’t even know they came in “tall.”
And guess what team my dreamman is on…Sacramento Kings…this just keeps getting better. I once had a lover from Sacramento. Sacramento…sacred memory…heart memento…holy thought…something like that! Perfect!
The game is good. They are scoring back-and-forth…tight…free throw…haha you missed…come on Pollard get it in…his blonde tips are distracting!…YES! SCORE!!!! Right then and there I make up my new program: water diet and basketball! I have been on water for almost two weeks. I feel pure, detoxed, renewed. Now I will shoot baskets at home, tone up, get control, sweat. I even like the commentators…that is my main sports drawback…I don’t like the sound of the commentators voices and they say dumb things. This is different.
This is smarttalk. It is refreshing.
Right then I get a call on my cell. It’s my exboyfriend. “I can’t talk…Pollard!” By the time I get off the phone the game is over.
“You won.” My younger brother says. “Too bad you missed it.”
Kings Rule! Pollard is a honey! I win! I only get six weeks of him, and then bye bye, playoffs will be over.
Oh, and I looked up HIS stats. He’s an ace player. He is 6’ 11” and 265 pounds! That’s a LOT of man. Way too much for me. Oh, and he has worn pigtails, and he has been bald. No mention of bridal gowns. He’s not a Rodman, is he?
NO. All caveman!
P.S. I use the caveman, cavegirl distinction for 21st Century intellectual primitives. It’s a very good designation. He wins! Score!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I Can't Get Enough of THIS man!
Rebecca A. Barrington
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