Under My Thumb

Once again, a random blog post title just popped into my head. I'm not a huge Stones fan. I don't hear Stones songs in my head very often. (Now, Howlin' Wolf and Bad Company are a different story.) I run hot and cold with the Stones. For every song I like, there are about 10 others I don't.

No, I have no reasonable explanation for the fact that I'm blathering on about The Rolling Stones.

Onward and laterallyward or whatever.

Much like those who split their time between the summer home and the winter home or between the West Coast and the East Coast, I've been giving my divided attention to mats one day and surfboards the next. Or whatever.

I'm drunk on the mat Kool-Aid, the taste having grown on me since my first sip. I don't even remember when I started drinking the surf Kool-Aid. I do remember it was many decades ago, long before surfing became fashionable . . . literally.

And to think I always thought people were staring at me because black women are a bit of an aberration in a surf lineup.

Wrong.

They're staring at the purple Kool-Aid mustache!