We are just exiting the season of winter squash, so it sort of feels weird to be blogging about this now. But there are all kinds of things one can do with squash (most of the best things involve roasting), and also I'm starving. There is a small, raw squash sitting on the windowsill and I could probably eat it as is.
In other news, Joel and I have started playing squash. The game. With the tiny black ball, that you hit at the wall really hard. It involves a great deal of running around, more lunging than I'm comfortable with, and (when I play) a whole lot of swearing.
My dad used to play squash (obviously*), and gave me his old racquet, so I feel superbadasscore. Due to all the lunging involved, I have a fine Squash Ass (that is to say, a firm, sore one), and I hit the ball more than I miss it now. I have this sick move where, because I have a terrible backhand, sometimes I'll switch to my left hand at the last second. People who don't know my reasons for why are always really impressed when I do this.
*'Obviously' because he went to college in the 70s. 'Let's check our entrance list here, Mr Plett. Owns at least one pair of indecently short shorts? Check. Plays squash? Check. Can play guitar while strolling the grounds? Check. Looks like you're in, young man.'