...I went to college. There, I met a group of girls. Fairly normal, from good families with generic parent names like Mark, Lisa, and Jerry, located in nicely wholesome Americana cities. Now, dear reader, how would you react if you realized they all played softball? Or how about if they started calling themselves the Phresh Krew? No, no. I didn't turn on bitch mode, nor did I do my best to stay away from this specific breed of collegiate female. No. I nodded feverishly when they sank into softball jargon and sat quietly as they discussed everything from sliding shorts to batting. Yes, batting. Before I knew any better, I was the groupie. Which is awkward, because in the right context, the groupie is responsible for fucking every member of the band. Not my cup 'o tea, but I did get to know them pretty well. In other ways? Uh?
Speaking of bands, let's talk about country music:
Apparently it's a real genre. If you know your shit, you'll sing along with everyone at the baseball house when the right songs come on. If you're drunk off your ass, lost, and from Portland, Oregon where everything is doused in patchouli, not BBQ sauce, you sit in awe as the entire house erupts into a raucous, twangy, chorus.
Until next time, y'all.
xx PKG
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