Dear Olympics 2012 Aly Raisman’s Parents (I look just like this mother when I watch TV)

1 Aug

These are Olympic gymnast’s Aly Raisman’s parents. This video went viral yesterday. Right now Aly Raisman wants to die. It’s possible her parents want to die too. Or maybe they don’t care, because SPOILER the team won the gold.

They were clearly mic’ed. Why were they mic’ed? Maybe it’s part of the “Aly Raisman: Quest for the Gold” story they’ve been filming? But it’s a NBC camera. My guess is– without doing any research– someone had the awesome idea of mic’ing, say, 10 sets of parents and betting they’d get something usable out of it.

Boy howdy did that pay off.

The thing is– Aly Raisman, this is perfection! Aly Raisman’s mother, you are amazing.

We all do this.

I do this watching the Olympians compete and I don’t know any of them! (Except for that one rower I lived next to in college, Hi Rob! You still look like you belong in a Pottery Barn catalog!)

You know how when you’re bowling you’re supposed to end with your hand pointing where you want the ball to go? No? Well, some of us had bowling in gym class as 3rd graders, so we have superior form. Don’t worry about it.

I will sit on the couch and — with no knowledge whatsoever of how to do a backflip much less one on a beam or how to dive in synchronicity or even how to walk with a third of the athleticism of these people — I will flail my body around as if by convulsing I can help the athlete — through projected muscle spasms teleported through the television.

I’ve hurt myself doing this. That’s how graceful I am. That’s how close I am to being an Olympic athlete. When people describe the athletes as Gods, they’re using me as a role model for the “human” standard.

Or, you know, I will also flail about if there is something embarrassing or awkward happening on TV. Realistic love scenes are the WORST. I WILL BE IN A BALL, eyes covered, elbows over my ribcage, singing lalalala, a pillow over my ears… I will be in a contortionist’s pose that I could not possibly achieve through any other means, a pose that defies all laws of physics and the (lack of) flexibility of my hamstrings.

I’ve spontaneously built forts in order to hide during teen dramas. I have touched way too much of a movie theater seat in my frantic reach for a grip in order to keep myself from sliding onto the floor. DON’T SAY THAT, I will scream. A second later: KISS HIM ALREADY.

I basically passed out during 40 Year-Old Virgin, I blushed so hard.

Do not even get me started on Molly Ringwald movies.



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