(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
Well, let’s just suffice it to say that I had to spray a lot of perfume on this morning. There was no time to shower, much less mascara my eyelashes. This game was just too dang early…
I’m not happy to admit this, and so I am not formally admitting this… but my husband informs me that I may not be a “morning person.”
Huh?
What does he know?
He is off riding the mountainsides in Utah right now.
He may or may not be right. I don’t have the freaking patience to find out at this early hour, but I did have a hard time waking up this morning.
Go figure.
My only incentives being:
A. To see my son play
B. To see my son play well
C. To see my son play well against ”dickhead.”
Now, I am not one to hold any grudges.
Like, I have almost forgiven that little bitch in high school… almost.
I don’t use the voodoo doll on her anymore… well, only semi-annually.
Heck, I have other things to do than live in the past.
And, that neighbor that I used to have living near me, emphasis on used to (and no, nothing mysterious happened to her… much to my regret. She just moved… how common, right?)
Let’s just say that when the book came out, The Devil Wears Prada, I thought it was about my neighbor.
Bee-atch, with a small ass and rock-hard boobs.
Yikes. I remember the first time she hugged me. I was bruised for a week from her plastic surgery stone tits.
Well, I am still in therapy over all of that neighborhood nonsense stuff.
No one here misses her dropping her garbage into other people’s cans.
Yeah baby, you can keep your dirty diapers to yourself.
Schtinky.
My dog misses them though. Evidently, there is something attractive with the scent of toddler diarrhea rolled in a Pampers disposables…
Eeeeeeuuuuw.
So, like I said I’m not one to keep grudges. So the fact that we are facing up Dick head and his team this morning is double-edged.
First off, I had to drive all the way back to my house because I forgot my chair.
I knew this was not going to be a good sign.
My sweet little sugar-coated ass would melt on the beauty of the morning dew if I were to sit on the ground. We can’t be having any of that wet dew sinking into my “down there” now can we?
Right.
So, I drove back to get my chair.
Gosh.
Secondly, I can’t help it that I express myself verbally.
Calling a kid dickhead seemed and still seems appropriate, and if the conditions arise again… and I feel the need to express myself in these and other matters, then I am bound by the “Mother Bear” Codes of Conduct to protect my little cub.
Regardless.
And… I am going to disregard the coaches messages left on my cell phone informing me of various muzzle supply shops.
A muzzle?
For who?
Dickhead?
That might be a little extreme for a 15-year-old, but I picked one up for him just in case.
I do understand the mouths of these babes, because I live with two teenagers and I could see how it could come in handy.
Like… everyday.
So, I bought him an extra-large.
Because he has an extra-large dickhead.
Du-u-uh.
I learned that from my kids… that “duh” thing.
Doesn’t it just make you feel good all over?
….
Well, right now… we are knee-deep in the second half and the score is one-to-one.
The kids are dripping with sweated competitiveness. Licking their teenaged chops for this victory that is due them. The tension hovers over the parents around me.
And me… well, I am in a catatonic stare… they are all navy colored enemies against our white shirted boys, and now those 15-year-old little penile wannabes threaten our good Saturday.
They have kicked two of our guys in the balls.
Hard.
On of their players received a red card.
And if that is not enough, they have tackled my son to the point where he was lying on the ground for literally two minutes.
Just lying there.
Unmoving.
And, I was not allowed to go on the field.
Mama bear does not like this part.
And, I’m going to tell you that two minutes is a very long time when your son is in pain, on the ground and not moving.
….
I would like to say that we won the game, but we did not.
We played a hard fight, but a clean one.
I left my comments until after the three tweets of the whistles were heard, signaling the end of the game.
Then I let a few “explicatives” fly…
A tough loss for all…
For us…
For other dickheads across the world…
And… for the world…
I don’t think that I am over exaggerating here, when I say that this IS a tough loss for the entire world…
Tragic.
And then of course, we all went to CoCo’s for breakfast.
Be well,
Belle
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
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Save it, Baby! Count me in!
