If You Don't Like Football, You Probably Will Be Bored With This Post. But Maybe Not.

Last night I got to do what every mom dreams of -- I took my daughter to her first professional football game.

Okay, I know that's not what every mom dreams of. I'm not sure I actually ever even dreamed of it. But it was pretty flippin' fun.

You have to know my daughter, however; she is a miniature almost-13-year-old version of me. Well, not so miniature, as she is only about 2 inches shorter than I am. And she looks nothing like me (I, of the dark hair and olive complexion; she of the Dutch blond and porcelain skin variety). But she thinks like me, and if you've read any of this blog previously, you'll know that my thinking is not of, oh, the typical girl variety. This is a girl who, after I got a tattoo, told me that when she gets a tattoo, it will be the word "PIMP" in huge letters across her torso. I related this to my friends, who seemed slightly horrified. I thought it was hilarious. See? Not typical.

Anyhoo, we had two sets of tickets -- my son (he of the ham beard) and my soon-to-be-ex-husband-with-whom-I-am-still-on-very-good-terms (good lord, is there some more graceful way to say that? Henceforth, he will be STBEHWWIASOVGT. No, that sucks too. Nevermind.) were in the club seats, and my daughter and I took the less luxurious concourse seats, entirely pleased, quite frankly, to be that much closer to the action (12 rows back, in the corner of the endzone. He-ey!).

We spent much of the time giving each other a running commentary on the people around us. The tie-dyed Rams shirt she deemed "tragic." The chick in the high heels and Ed Hardy t-shirt -(who wears heels to a football game? Poser!). Grossing out over the old dude next to us who only whipped out his binoculars when the cheerleaders were on the field. I'm not kidding. Remember, we were only 12 rows back. And then he followed them with said binoculars as they bounced by us and exited the field. He might actually have been drooling. Seriously.

My daughter kept referring to the cheerleaders as strippers, by the way. This made me laugh. Perhaps I am the only one entertained by this.

The truth is, however, that my daughter and I both actually love football. LOVE it. She is a Florida Gators fan through and through, and I am of a Packers persuasion, but we totally dig the game, and I got to sit there and coach her through everything play by play, while she ACTUALLY PAID ATTENTION. It was sweet. And not in a lame-ass girly way.

Sadly we made our exit early in the fourth quarter because my 11-year-old son, who was bored save for ogling the cheerleaders, begged us by text message to go. Because he apparently hates football. I'm ordering the DNA test post-haste.

A SIDE NOTE: On the way out, while we were waiting to hook up with son and, er, STBEHWWIASOVGT, we stopped and grabbed ourselves a couple of hot dogs -- or, more accurately, what the concession stand has cleverly dubbed -- get this -- "Ram Dogs." Holy shit, that is just wrong on soooo many levels. Oh, St. Louis, I love you.

Oh, in case you were wondering, the Rams actually won, 24-10. But they were playing the Ravens, who played like girls, so I'm not sure that even counts.