I just suddenly remembered the craziest dream I had last night. The Weasels (including me) were playing interhall football against Siegfried (who are now male, in case any alumnae don’t know) in my high school gym. The stands were full and there was a solid division down the middle between the sea of purple on the left and the sea of red on the right. (Are Siegfried red? I have no clue.) Anyway, the Weasels were winning 20-7 and the crowd was going nuts. Our side kept repeating this cheer that went something like, “We are the Weasels, and you can kiss our ass! Yes, you can kiss our ass!” Lizzie was quarterbacking and the Siegfried defense had pushed us back to one corner of the gym floor, and our backs were literally against the wall. So we were huddled up trying to figure out a play to call. I was in favor of a Quarterback Draw (or as we used to call it, “Get the Fuck Out”) where the line would push everybody to the left and Lizzie would scamper down the sideline (i.e. the front of the bleachers). But we were also debating whether we could protect her long enough to throw a long bomb down the floor to Kel, who then needed to scamper to the out-of-bounds line to score the touchdown. Faced with this quandry… I woke up.

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