As proud Bal’mer residents, my wife and I take delight in the Ravens winning last night’s Super Bowl, even if we still mourn the loss of our beloved NFL Colts team to Indianapolis.
Prior to kickoff, I had unshakable belief in our team’s will to win. Still I felt it only fair to warn my wife that should the unthinkable happen, she was going over my knee to be soundly hand-spanked on her bare behind, as I naturally would need a constructive means to vent my frustration with a Ravens’ loss.
Fortunately for my wife and for me, the Ravens won. Unfortunately for my wife, I intend to give her a good stiff dose of the “naughty girl paddle” upon my return from work today.
The reason: the 35-minute delay from the power outage early in the third quarter delayed my bedtime by a corresponding amount of time and thus reduced my vigor for my pre-breakfast exercise routine of 100 push ups, 100 sit-ups and 15 minutes boxing with the “heavy bag.”
Were it not for silly women like my wife who insist on the frivolous excess of a Broadway musical-caliber “Super Bowl halftime show,” the stadium power outage from excessive energy usage during the performance would not have occurred.
(As an extremely important and busy corporate executive, I haven’t taken the time to read or listen to media reports today as to what actually caused the outage. But, as a man and thus naturally up-to-speed on all matters technological, it’s perfectly clear to me what happened.)
My wife says it’s unfair that I’m going to paddle her posterior as red as the Arizona Cardinals' team jerseys, as she personally didn't cause the outage.
Not that it will change my mind. But, as you strike me as reasonably intelligent for a woman, I’m curious what you think.
Of course your wife should be properly paddled and I encourage all responsible husbands residing in the United States’ eastern time zone to do the same with their "little women."
(The game finished early enough for residents of other American time zones to go to bed at a reasonable hour and Ontario and Maritime Provinces residents should have been watching hockey replays on TV anyway.)
Whatever became of old-fashioned halftime performances of marching bands playing John Phillips Sousa tunes and buxom gals in sparkly outfits throwing batons in the air?
That style show is sufficient amusement for spectators in the stands. Wives at home don’t need entertainment, as they must spend the twenty-minute break replenishing their husbands’ supplies of fried beef jerky, beer ice cream and other comfort food.
Still, despite the inconvenience of being kept up past your bedtime, I congratulate you and fellow Bal’mer residents on the win. I’m not much of a San Francisco fan these days. The city has been in a downhill slide since the beatniks took it over.
And please accept my condolences on the loss of your beloved Colts to Indianapolis. Johnny Unitas must still be rolling over in his grave about that. (Such a cute haircut that man had!)
By the way, who are the Arizona Cardinals? The only sports franchise I know with that nickname is a baseball team 300 miles to the south of Hubby and me that we don’t care about except when they’re putting a whipping on the Chicago Cubs. (We’re Southsiders.)