A Tat for a Tit

I am trying valiantly hard to cheer for the hubs team. I don't want to jump off their bandwagon, but I can tell you I won't be broken hearted if they lose tonight. Why? Let me tell you. Hockey night with the hubs used to mean beer, foot rubs and then some other type of rubbing (wink, wink.) Since the hubs has gone off to chase the almighty dollar, the only foot rub I am getting now are the ones were the puppy is trying to chew off my toes. Not romantic and painful as hell. No, hockey night now means my hubs trots off to the local pub with his buddies and flirts with the small town hoes there. A new family tradition for us. Go Oil Go!

But as they say, when the cat's away, the mice will play. And so, what is good for the goose is good for the gander. So today I am off to play. No, I'm not going to bat my eyes at anyone. I'll be the dutiful wife and mother and watch the game with my kids, waiting for Boo to phone to tell me who grabbed his ass this time. I'm going to do something much painful to him and I.

I'm heading to the tattoo parlour. And getting myself a kick ass tattoo. Because I can, I will and you can't stop me Boo! (Okay, that last part might have been a tad childish.) And since my hubs believes there is nothing more beautiful and perfect than a woman's body (even one sporting saggy A cups, a dimpled backside, skin streaked with stretch marks and let's not forget the roll around the middle) getting a tattoo would defile this beauty.

Bring on the defiling. Cause I have already paid and I'm not backing out.

If the hubs doesn't come home soon, I may have to get another piercing. Something to think about while I'm there....