Butt-Dialing, or, I’m sorry, Abigail…
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DISCLAIMER: Today’s blog uses the word butt a lot of times. In a funny, good way, though. Having played tennis most of my life, I am more than well aware that I have a good, nice, firm butt. Like, I could point my butt toward a bowl of walnuts and they’d crack immediately. Out of pure-D respect. I mean, facts are facts. Now, I don’t often talk about my butt because a) it isn’t tasteful to do so, and b) I mean, look at it. I don’t really have to talk about it. It’s a little gift from Up Above (two, if you...
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