My Wife is Obsessed with Football
It's football season. The Cowboys are doing well; the Redskins stink. All is right with the world. But something, and I'm venting here, is irking my nerves:
Yes. It is okay that I, a woman, am obsessed with football. No. It is not OK if you, man, test my obsession by questioning how well I know a team/player's stats!
My fanatisicm is not dictated by how much crap I know about a 5th round draft pick from Alabama. What does the secondary players on the Cowboy's team have to do with my life right now? And I don't give a rats-ass who's on the injured roster on any given Sunday ... unless it's the quarterback, of course. For real ... just play the game!
What I DO care about is yelling at the television every Sunday evening and Monday night. Screaming at people who can't hear me is a favorite pass time. I admit it! Plus, there's a simple satisfaction in knowing that I'm part of the team; a cheerleader. I would look hella fine in a Cowboys cheerleader uniform, though I can't dance to save my life.
And all excuses aside: a man in tight pants with a nice butt sweating it out for more than an hour makes me happy. Very, very happy. Multiply that by 22 and I am in an unquantifiable state of bliss come Sunday night.
Where does that leave us, dear dude? I'm not in your favorite recliner, drinking your beer, and mouthing off why shotgun is better than draw. I'm enjoying the game ... so let me! And be thankful your wife and I aren't trying to over talk the game with scrapbooking stats. THAT is something you DON'T want to hear!








Tuesday, October 27, 2009
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