A Man's Game
If the hubs believes that, well, I wonder what else I can snow him into. For those of you who are worried that he may read this and take offense, I assure you, that once he sees the pic of his Bug in uniform, and reads my promise to watch the game, his eyes will go no further. His sense of pride and duty will be satisfied and he will turn his eyes to more pressing matters. Like the small town hoes that like to bat their eyes at him and beguile him with their pretty hockey talk. It won't matter to them about the wedding band around his finger, or the fact that he never makes eye contact. No, those wenches will keep on trying to capture his attention, taking his aloofness as a challenge to try harder.
Am I worried? Nah. Let's face it. If any one was going to cheat in this relationship, we all know it would be me. But thankfully, stretch marks and a desire to retain a first husband have killed any interest in fooling about. And the hubs feels the same way. He is just flattered that someone (other than me) thinks he's cute. And as this is his first real foray from home, his first adventure without a woman at his side, I give him free reign. I'll allow him to enjoy those country hoes, whose idea of fashion is a plaid shirt tied in a knot and hair teased up to high heaven.
Because he and I both know who he's coming home to. And I've already seen him naked. And really, once I got over the laughing part, it's all kind of worked out.
Just kidding Boo. Really. I'd never laugh at Mr. Pickle. At least not in front of you.