1. Statistically, February Sucks


    Date: 7/7/2024, Categories: Loving Wives, Author: byRobertaBob 

    ... him and put my arm around his neck. A casual observer would see a drunk boyfriend being comforted by his woman.

"I had you on my team," I hissed, smiling for the world. "You and your stone digits dropped me out of first place. You want to guess who won the league? Huh? Not any of the men, no that would have been bad enough. Those combine-addicted idiots pick their quarterbacks by 40 times or how deep they can sling it. Accuracy and reading the coverage be damned, let alone the ability to look off the free safety. No! It was Dee. Fucking Dee, who drafts her players by how cute their names are. Fucking Dee, who comes in while the game is on and asks what fucking inning it is!"

Remembering the pain of watching Dee prance around with the plastic silver trophy made me want to hit Marc again. I calculated a heel kick to his face but heard Jim calling me.

I leaned in closer to Marc, who was drooling and coughing.

"You want to call the cops on me?" I said sweetly. "Imagine next season when eleven vicious roided up assholes on a defense find out you got shitmixed by a 105 pound mother of two. It's going to be humiliating to ...
    ... be trash talked while they line up to Theismann your ass. I can hear Romo giggling already."

"But it's not all bad, Marc. I am going to give you some free advice," I continued. "The same thing I will tell my son, and, by George Blanda's ghost, my daughter, when they put on the pads."

I wiped my slimy palms on his Sartorio Napoli jacket and then held them up to his face.

"Always look the ball into your hands."

I jumped up and signaled touchdown, then moonwalked away, twirled, and dropped to the floor in a split. Old cheerleader muscle memory.

I was grabbed and yanked to my feet.

"Are you okay?" my husband said in a worried tone as he looked at the second team All-Pro tight end heaving his last meal out on the loveseat.

"Never better," I said with enthusiasm.

We returned to our table, gathered our coats, and headed for the door.

Dee pushed up beside me. "What the hell happened?"

I shrugged. "We talked football. Seems we disagree on certain points. Say -- you still like him, don't you?" I could see it in her eyes. She did.

"Tell you what," I said. "Trade you: him for Kittle, even up. What about it?"
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