After losing the first three weeks and missing the fourth due to our weekend in
hell Palm Springs, I almost lost interest in placing any more bets on football teams that I obviously know nothing about. Except for what information the Husband provides. That actually manages to penetrate my brain, that is. And, let’s face it, it’s not much. (What the Husband doesn’t realize is that while he’s talking football stats in my ear, I’m watching old episodes of Lipstick Jungle on my laptop.)
And it certainly didn’t help that someone let me sleep in late. Someone who is supposed to be making cookies right now except he woke up with a mysterious stomachache, which I think is his way of saying “I don’t know how to work the oven.”
Well, let’s get down to it. Despite my sleeping in and missing the morning games, the Husband did talk me into placing a bet on those starting in the afternoon. So, I asked him to tell me who was playing and as soon as he said “Cowboys and Bengals,” I immediately stood up and shouted “COWBOYS BY A HUNDRED, MOTHERFUCKER!”
I didn’t actually say “motherfucker,” but I wanted to. I like the F word, but the Husband doesn’t think it’s “ladylike.” Fuck. That.
Let’s end this already. I took the Patriots to win and the Cowboys to win by sixteen. And if I don’t win this week, the Husband says I’m cut off.
Edited after the games to add: I’ve been cut off.