Thursday, October 20, 2011

Sister Wives

There is a point when one has to admit she is addicted to something of which she is not the least bit proud.  With me, it is an unnatural fascination with the TLC show Sister Wives.  I was watching it yesterday thinking, "How sad!  Those women exist on their own 3 nights a week with a brood of children, knowing that their husband is in the arms of another.  How do they do it?  They say it is all in the name of their crazy, mixed-up cult and they are fine with it, but I can see the hurt in their eyes."

And then it hit me.  I AM A SISTER WIFE.  And my husband's other lovers are the cruel trio of Football, School, and Electronic Devices (Get yer mind outta the gutter....I mean cell phones and computers.).  Let me introduce you to my sister wives.  We are all going out to get matching rings later (or ring tones, as the case may be).


See, "school" is actually Mr. Coach's real JOB.  This means we get money from him performing it.  So I have to be a little cautious here, because there are sacrifices one has to make to earn a living and I totally understand that.  HOW-EVAH, I must say that this wife is a silent time slut.  She pops up whenever you are not looking and steals an hour here and there.  And pretty soon you come to realize that she has taken your husband away A LOT more than you thought.   I hope she doesn't end up pregnant.  Slut.

Staff meetings are the literal brothel of "School."  They start an hour or so before school and entice him with free donuts and hot coffee, which in the Sister Wife World are like a g-string and pasties.  I can't compete with that!!!  Harlot!

Bosses.  "Boss" in the school sense is a principal or a superintendent (the boss of the Bruce Springsteen squared).  But they are able to command Mr. Coach's presence at the snap of a finger and there is nothing I can do about it.    I could say something like, "Are you kidding me?  They can do without you!  A principal has a grown-up office (with a door and everything!) and a superintendent has a bigger office, inside an office with a door.  They can face whatever problem they have on their own."  But then I would get in big trouble with Mr. Coach.  And since I am all for marital harmony, I choose not to say it.  Out loud.  Floozy.


Football is the biggest whore of them all.  I hate that bitch.  She takes all his time and whines profusely whenever she is neglected.  She is needy.  She is helpless.  She is stupid and cannot function on her own.  She has Grid Kid Football games at which "appearances need to be made."   She has pre-game meals that need an appearance.  She has really, really needy in-laws called "parents" that need constant attention and stroking.  (I'd like to punch them.  In the face.  With a chair.)  There are newspaper reporters with whom she needs him to talk.  And there are other coaches (some of which have destroyed one marriage and are on their next one) she wants him to talk with for an un-godly amount of time.  But worst of all is the FILM.  She requires more film time of him than Tommy Lee did of Pamela Anderson.  Exhibitionist hussy.

Electronic Devices

{shudder}  These are the Sister Wife I most hate.  She is the welfare, trailer trash of our little family.  She doesn't earn us ANY income.  She just sits there, lounging seductively on the couch.  Calling to him with a purring vibration.  "Come on.  Check your e-mail.  You know you want to.  See who texted you.....your other wife can repeat what she was telling you later.  Mmmmmhmmm.  That's it.  Check an obscure website about Wing-T drills and Bubble Screens.  Yeah....."  She is going to hell.   I hope.  Tramp.

So, now you can sit there and look at me and think:  "How sad! That woman exists on her own 3 nights a week, with a brood of children, knowing that her husband is in the arms of another. How does she do it?  She says it is all in the name of his crazy, mixed-up cult of football and she is fine with it, but I can see the hurt in her eyes." 

I wear pity like a Coach purse, baby.  Lay it on me.

No comments:

Post a Comment