BaseBall

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I was at some baseball game… the Redsox versus the “Yonkers”; I had no idea who the Yonkers were so I assumed it was some crazy new team from Maine. All the men were out back behind the bleachers getting pre-game interviews and signing baseballs or chatting amongst teammates. They all looked pretty confident. A lineup of little league baseball kids, one by one, were announced onto the field and then into some pretty special seats as though they were professional baseball players. They were the guests of honor. The boys were so cute in their little white and red outfits – beyond excited for that matter. When the announcer said “please welcome number 24 in white and red, (first name/last name), they’d blush a deep red and smile while the crowd applauded for them. Then the men came out and I began to drool. I hate baseball, but I’ll watch a fine specimen of sex on legs jogging across the grass any day; I didn’t even know who the players were since I don’t watch baseball, so none of them were real :P. Despite all this, something in my heart sank a little, and no matter how many men there may have been in this house of testosterone to distract me, I suddenly wished my son was with me to enjoy the game. All I wanted was my little boy. ❤

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