She Shoots, She Scores!

To those of you who wished my hubs and I well wishes on our anniversary, I thank you. Because it was looking like it was going to be the high point of my day. Really. And the way my luck was running, probably the most romantic part too.

Like the fool I am, I didn't realize #9 fell on a play-off date. Which meant that I spent the evening on the couch, next to my hubs, watching his team struggle to stay in the game. To be honest, I couldn't tell you if it was a good game or not. Between enjoying my cold, stale pizza and receiving a foot rub that alternated between either too hard or too soft depending on what end of the rink the puck was on, I wasn't paying too much attention. I was busy thinking of all the ways I would have enjoyed spending our anniversary (maybe a movie, maybe dancing, maybe a quiet romantic stroll) while drilling holes into the side of my beloved's head with my ice-ray glare. To which, he remained oblivious. Dope.

Nope, I could have worn a snazzy little french maid's outfit and licked Mr. Pickle and he still wouldn't have noticed me. He probably would have told me I was distracting him from the game and could I please be quiet? I could have cartwheeled naked through out the living room and he would have told me "You make a better door than a window."

This, dear internet, is the reality of marriage after nine years. Don't get me wrong, the man wasn't a completely obtuse. He brought home a funny, romantic card and my favorite treat: Tim Horton's. He called me every five minutes through out the day to make sure I knew he loved me and to remind me about the damn hockey game.
I knew that with the game well into over-time, if I ever wanted to see any action on my anniversary I would have to make a drastic maneuver. Without resorting to begging like a dog. I may be a fool, but I am no idiot.

Let's just say my hubs never got to see how the game ended. And he willingly turned the telly off. And he scored.

Funny, how wearing a hockey jersey could win my game...