The changing leaves, apple cider, scarves, the annual dusting off of the crockpot…
And my transformation into Football Widow.
Might as well put blonde braided pigtails on each side of the flatscreen and call it a date.
“COME ON, Ref!”
“Manning, you throw one more turnover and that’s it!”
Sounds more like an 8th grade relationship, if you ask me. One that with every minute I anxiously hope turns hostile with the “off” button. But no. One great play and they’re back together again.
Oh wait. You mean to tell me I can eat away my Sunday night sorrows? Yes please, Mr. (“knock-off”) Taco Bell with your saucy pintos n’cheese.
Husby? The whiff under the covers? Yeah. Payback STINKS! ha!