It's not every Valentine's day that you receive the coolest gift ever. Because we are, by governmental definition, poor as dirt, Thomas and I decided the best thing we could do this Valentine's day would be to play outside in the reasonably good weather: very sunny, high 50s low 60s. Around 1:00, we took our baseball gear to the small park across from Thomas' apartments, and as Thomas was feeding me pop-flies, a small body edged his way onto the field, clutching a tiny metal bat. Well, we had to play with him because: a) he was ultra cute and b) he brought more kids with him: a cousin of the same age named Malik (his name was Michael, or "Michael Bryant, like my mom sometimes calls me," as he told me) and two older cousins with similar interest in our playtime. As younger kids usually are, Malik and Michael were all about playing with "the older kids" and getting to share the field with people who brought balls and gloves and a bat. The older kids (I guess they were about 12 or 13 or so) were all about showing off. It was pretty hilarious to watch them, but also a little awkward because the more talented one kept calling the other one a "stupid m___f___" and other choice terms of endearment that preteens sling around.
So we spent about 20 or 30 min playing baseball with the neighborhood chirruns before we had to call time and go watch the Tennessee/Vanderbilt game came on TV, which I watched a sufficient amount of before I took a swift nap of about 2 hours.
It was by all means a pretty "American" Valentine's day, because after that we went to Red Robin to eat burgers. And the garlic parmesean fries. With campfire sauce. Mmmm.
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