Ode to a Football Widow
All week long I spend at work.
Saturday comes and I'm a total jerk.
"Watch the kids for a few hours." I say.
"I'm going to watch my Utah Utes play!"
A "few hours" turns into six or eight.
Count travel time, tailgating and the bathroom line to wait.
My wife sits home while the kids run a muck.
I sit in Section E32 yelling, "The Cougars Suck!"
When I get home, the wife's understandably annoyed.
The younger kid puked and the older one started steroids.
I tell her excitedly, "THE UTES WON! IT WAS PURE BLISS."
She replies with a smirk, "That's great. These lips... DO NOT EXPECT TO KISS!"
I've already tuned her out - the post game is on.
The ire I feel from her turns into a yawn.
My wife, the football widow and driver of the minivan
Says, "Sit your butt on that couch, we're watching The Back-Up Plan!"
So on the couch I sit, a Jennifer Lopez behind on our screen.
But I could care less, I'm thinking 3rd and eighteen.
My mind wonders and dwells on the games greatest plays.
I rub my wife's feet, hoping she forgets the error of my ways.
By Monday night, I'm out of the doghouse.
I've tried to be kind the world's greatest spouse.
When Saturday rolls around again.
I start to think about another Utah win!
And then I return to my evil ways.
My wife's a saint. I'm surprised she stays.
GO UTES! 7-0! #8 in the land!