Superbowl flashback

So, it’s Super Bowl Sunday.  We’ll all huddle around our TV screen like the rest of America.  I made a big pot of chili this morning.  And we’ll have snacks and soda.  I might even crack open a beer or two.  It is the Super Bowl after all.

We always do a family football pool.  I pick out silly prizes.  The kids still love it.

So, yeah, whatever.

So, yeah, whatever.

But here’s the thing.  I’m not a Broncos fan or a Seahawks fan, so I don’t have a rooting interest.  It is football, so there’s that.  I’ll probably root for the Seahawks.  I’m a diehard Steelers fan who appreciates a good defense.  But it would be something to see Peyton lead two different teams to Superbowl victories.  So, yeah, whatever.

Of course, there are the commercials.  Funny stuff and hot babes.  What’s not to like?

And the halftime show.  Bruno Mars.  So, yeah, whatever.

Last year, there was Beyoncé.  You had me at Beyoncé.  Do you remember Beyoncé?

Beyoncé, Beyoncé, Beyoncé …


Middle-age butch is being transported back to February 2013.

And Beyoncé, Beyoncé, Beyoncé …

* * *

You had me at Beyoncé (a re-post from Feb. 4, 2013)


I was just sitting here at my computer daydreaming.  About last night’s Super Bowl.

I’m sure you’re thinking that’s not so out of character for Middle-age butch.  You are, after all, a flannel-clad, masculine-leaning, sports-obsessed lesbian, you might say.  Isn’t watching football mandatory for your kind?

Why, yes, I did watch the game.

But the truth of the matter is that I really wasn’t that into it.  I’m not a fan of either team.  The match-up didn’t excite me.  And I gave up betting on sports years ago.



Beyoncé, Beyoncé, Beyoncé

But then there was Beyoncé.

Looking all Amazon warrior in that black leather outfit/lingerie.  Like the fucking queen of the Amazons.

Her long legs stretched all the way to the top of the Superdome.  I’m pretty sure that’s why the power went out.

Now, I have never been a Beyoncé.  I’ve always preferred TLC over Destiny’s Child.  I usually like my rock stars a little more edgy (see Melissa Etheridge), and soulful (see Melissa Etheridge) and angry lesbian (see Melissa Etheridge).

But then there was Beyoncé.

Shaking her perfect hips and wagging her finger.  Looking all Sasha Fierce.

The all-girl band didn’t hurt, either.  Damn.

I politely clapped after each number.

The kids kept telling me that Beyoncé can’t hear me.

They are rude and impertinent.  And know nothing about sports.

Besides, it really didn’t matter.  During those 12 minutes, it was just me and Beyoncé.

So, the highlight of Super Bowl XLVII?

The half-time show.

I’m pretty sure someone is going to be showing up soon to revoke my Butch Lesbian card.

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