Our family watched the soccer match between DC United and the Kansas City Wizards on ESPN 2.
The conversation in our living room went like this:
Husband: Did someone just say “What the fuck?”
Me: I didn’t.
9 Year Old Son: Dad just did.
When we were driving down 95 a couple of weeks ago I saw a license plate that nearly made me wreck my car.
It said 4DCUNTD.
It took four adults to figure it out.
I’ll leave the answer in the comments.
Hint: I live in the Washington DC Metro Area.
When my sons first began playing soccer people would turn to my husband and look approvingly as if to say, “Dude, good thing you got your kids into soccer.” And it would piss me off. It wasn’t my husband who fanned the flame to get the kids fired up about soccer, it was me. I love the game! My love of the game began early, not because I played on the Pugs, but because I had traveled to Europe. See, across the pond, soccer is to other countries what Football and Baseball are to us here in the U S of A. Sitting in a pub or cafe in Paris or London watching a futbol match with the Europeans gave me a contact high which continued to have an effect on me, well, forever.
Yeah, I played intramural soccer in college. But for fun, definitely not for profit or sex. I wasn’t especially talented nor promiscuous, which may have contributed to my non existent rise to fortune and fame. But I’m okay with that. I got out of the game just what I needed at that time in my life: physical exercise and beer. Okay, mainly beer.
So now my kids are playing soccer. Not yet into the beer garden party, but they do like to watch our local MLS team, DC United, play at RFK Stadium.
While we’ve had seats behind the hard core fans, our kids prefer to sit elsewhere because ,while the fans are spirited and tend to be happy, they stand up for almost the entire match and the pounding of the feet sort of makes my younger son nervous the stadium floor will give way. And if it does? He’s convinced we’ll fall into the depths of the stadium which will definitely mean he’ll fall so fast he won’t be able to get any Dippin’ Dots*along the way.
This past week we watched the Confederations Cup; Spain V. South Africa. Initially I thought there was a problem with our television reception. I heard something which sounded a lot like buzzing . My sons told me it was due to horns being blown by fans in the stadium. And yup, they were absolutely right. I had utterly forgotten about the vuvuzela and after I told the boys the name of the horn, I waited for one of them to giggle and ask if there is also a penis horn.
Smartassery, it seems, also follows the maternal line.
*Consensus tells me there is no middle ground when it comes to Dippin Dots; either you love them or you hate them. My opinion is Dippin Dots suck.
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