photo of Marilyn Monroe
When Andy Murray lost to Roger Federer in the Wimbledon finals my (expletive laden) rant included a wish for Andy to, shall we say, “forcefully place” a gold medal in Roger’s ”personal space”. If you know what I mean. Now I find myself in a classic be careful what you wish for situation.
My affection for Mr. Murray is overshadowed only by my fascination with his girlfriend’s hair (will some magazine please interview her about that situation? what product is she using? is there a blow dryer involved, hot rollers, what?) so I’m not entirely sure I’ll make it through another Murray – Federer final. Wimbledon just about did me in, and truth be told my subsequent despondency was pretty insufferable.
I’ll be crossing my fingers when I’m not using my hands to cover my eyes, cheering entirely too loudly, and making a large pitcher of Pimm’s. Sure it’ll only be 9 am here, but it’s 2 pm in London so technically it’s not that scandalous. Or maybe it is, but I’m telling you tea is just not going to cut it for this match.