Poetry

Oh Balls!

Hi all,

Well, the football is underway for better or for worse. My hubby lurves to watch it on the box, in fact he loves all sport but especially rugby, football, cricket, darts, tennis, athletics, curling, tiddlywinks… well, all sport. I on the other hand don’t care to watch it on TV, being there at the actual event I can understand because of the comradery and the atmosphere, but watching it on TV is lost on me (yes, I can feel your judgement, I know I’m a cold fish when it comes to sport on TV).  Last Friday the Euro’s started and my inner fish jumped in the freezer because when it comes to the tele I’m not very good at recognising there’s give and take. I’m very happy to watch what I want and make him sit through it because I insist it’s “together time” but when it comes to watching sport I’m afraid I  have been known to tell him to “bore off” and roll my eyes like a teenager. I realise it’s a terrible double standard but I’m working on it… slowly.

My attitude didn’t improve last Friday when the footy started and I discovered Dan settled in to watch it (even though England weren’t playing), so I tried my best to grow up a little bit and let it go (in a non-Elsa way) and I found myself writing this:

 

Caffeine intake: I can’t remember and who cares? I’m on my third glass of wine – yippee!

Oh Balls!

It’s Friday night and the kids are in bed,
And I’m pouring myself a large glass of red.

My PJs are on and I’m rocking pink check,
Perhaps I’ll go commando – who gives a heck!

No cartoons, no Frozen, Cbeebies has finished,
The third parent is great but it’s time it diminished.

The night is mine with my husband, my man,
It’s adults only now kids, there’s a strict child ban.

I’m going to kick back, relax, snog my hubby’s face,
Slurp wine in the gaps and make use of the space.

But halt! What horror! How am I to cope?
There’s a ball on TV and my chap’s now a dope!

img038He’s lounging, he’s drinking, he’s grabbing his balls,
He’s zoned on the game, I’m not here at all.

My PJ’s check have lost their shiny hue,
Perhaps he’ll notice me if I wear red, white and blue?

My red wine has soured, it might as well be squash,
I fucking hate football – Friday night is a wash!

22 men and two shouty ones on the side,
They now have his love, I’ve been proper pied.

Yawn, what a bore, I’ll have to watch YouTube,
The football has made me a lonely old boob.

I just don’t get it, the game of two halves,
Call me soulless or cold, but there just aren’t any laughs.

I know I’m alone, a sole football hater,
But when it’s on TV I wish I’d married a ‘tater!

We don’t talk or kiss when the footy is on,
And why do they play for so bloody long?

Quick! It’s half time, I’ll share my concerns,
He can’t put the game first, when will he learn?

Damn it! He’s got me, he spoke without risk,
“The Bake Off” reduced him to last on the list.

But mine’s different surely? It’s national glue,
Flip it! He’s right, the football is too.

Ffs! I’m going to have to sit through this shit,
But I guess I’ll be with him and that’s the best bit.

Bea x

 

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