Feelings about football captured in badly rhyming sentences.
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 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!
He’s lounging, he’s drinking, he’s grabbing his balls, He’s zoned on the game, to him I’m not here at all. My PJ’s pink 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 does it go and go 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.*
*I felt I had to say that.