This was the beauty of the Sunday Widow lifestyle. That is, until this season. You see, for whatever reason, Dave entered me into the football pool that he participates in every year. In order to humor him, I gracefully participated and made my picks after being brought up to speed on what "the spread" meant. Frankly, my modus operandi was to use my third eye and psychic powers to define a winner, then place my bets on how strongly the universe called the winners out to me. The result... The first week I was # 1 out of 70 some-odd participants. Thank you Sylvia Browne.
Now, you would think that my husband would be joyful, nay, maybe proud? But no, I was told that he was just happy we didn't share the same last name! How sour one can become when one places poorly!
Alas, the weeks of the 2010/2011 NFL season are passing and I have begun to take this darn thing seriously. In fact, I find myself yelling at the television set and making sarcastic comments towards the players as they fumble and punt their ways to my victories and my losses. This week I am doing poorly and Dave has finally passed me in the standings. His wins now grate on my nerves and his hourly status reports have become a toxic fume that invades my once glorious Sunday Widow euphoria.
Today, I caught him smiling as I criticized a play by one of my chosen teams. Then it hit me! I've been bamboozled! This was his plan all along; lure me with my fierce need for competition. Without knowing it, my beloved husband has managed to have me spend my Sunday Window time with him! Don't get me wrong, I am glad to spend this time with him. I love him with all my heart and I think it is lovely that we can carve out time to simply enjoy a lazy day together. However, mark my words... if he finishes in this pool ahead of me there will be hell to pay. I just need to decide on a fitting revenge; ballroom dancing... here we come!
