While it was a good night of hockey last night in that I felt that I Did Not Suck, what I’m not so keen on regarding playing on Fridays is that the Elite/A tier plays immediately afterwards. Sure, it’s fun to watch good hockey; the problem is that when I head to the bar upstairs after playing for an hour and a half and looking like a sweat-bedraggled ragamuffin, I’m always confronted with the specter of The Debbies. You know. The gaggle of womanhood that is perfection in and of itself, with the high heels, the straight hair, the $200 jeans, the makeup that would make Boticelli weep. Angels who have deigned to grace us with their presence. Hallelujah. Apparently it’s some kind of ManLaw that the better the hockey player, the more Debbie-ish the wife.
Now, before I have a bunch of pissed off hockey players deciding to beat the crap out of me, I’d like to note that I’m sure your significant others are perfectly lovely women, who are all unique in their own special ways - but really, it somehow seems unfair that I go traipsing upstairs after hockey looking like a hairball that a cat just coughed up, and they’re all perfectly coiffed and Trixified, not a hair out of place. Well, let’s be honest here, while I have many charms, being perfectly coiffed, ever, is not one of them, hockey notwithstanding. Fine. But, I’d just like to know, why did I not at least get the memo about blow drying my hair perfectly straight? I tried to compensate by perching my sunglasses on top of my head, at 10:30 at night, since this seems to be the look these days, and that did make me feel slightly better. Still, I was only a pale shadow of what I could have been, dammit.
Anyway, I spent some time chatting with my new pals, Kelly and Tyson, both HDLs, and both very charming even as I was interrogating them as to how the hell they got Hot Doug’s to sponsor them, when he wouldn’t even give me the time of day. Hmph. When I told them I’d write a scathing and condemnatory expose about this travesty of good sense and justice on this very blog, and that I wouldn’t rest until some kind of Action Was Taken, they both started to look a bit nervous. Glancing around the bar, and I heard mumbling about “the river” and “cement shoes” and something like “no one……wi……find her……bod….”
Naturally, this kind of light, free-flowing conversation around me helped me remember all the great times I’ve had hanging out with the HDLs at Johnny’s, yes sirree. What a fine, upstanding bunch of guys! Yep. And me, why, I don’t even EAT hot dogs, so the fact that they’re sponsored by HD, I just have the utmost admiration for their negotiating skills, but no jealousy whatsoever. Oh, and I just have to add, that was a great game last night, winning the championship as they did – those guys played brilliantly. Pure genius.
Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I, umm, need to make some plane reservations. I hear Fiji is just lovely at this time of year. Oh, one last thing – Tyson, I so totally agree with you that “damnthiswateriscold” IS just way too long, and it was SO selfish of me to foist that on all of you, our dear readers. We’ll try to change it to “damnwater” or “damncold” with all due speed, my good man. THANK you for the input – you are a true gem among us!
(shit.....passport, where is that stupid passport...and wig....)