As some people celebrate Spain’s championship, I celebrate the death of football, at least for a while.
Vanity aside, I have often been told by people how gorgeous I am, and how any man will lay down their life for me. But on Sunday, my boyfriend proved something so shocking - that I was overrated after all. He further mentioned that he would rather choose to watch the Amavubi training, than to sit and babysit me.
I was lying in my bed feigning sickness, for reasons best known to myself and I wanted my man’s full attention.
I begged the bugger to stay with me and he insisted he wanted to go and watch the final game, despite the fact that there is a television with a fully paid DStv subscription; he still wanted to go and watch the game in a bar with friends.
Asked whether the game was more important than me? He stupidly relied in the affirmative, can you imagine that?
Now, before I dump this weak fellow, I would like to understand men’s obsession with watching 22 rich dudes chasing after one inflated rubber ball. Neither do I understand why men lose their tempers over football. However, abandoning your girlfriend for soccer is devastating.
I do not even want to start with the instances I have heard of where people kill themselves because their favourite team lost. That stupidity, I have failed to comprehend to this day!
And, what is with all these noises soccer fanatics continuously make every time someone is about to score a goal? I wish they knew the looks on their faces while they made that annoying noise.
I seriously think I cannot deal with the competition between football and myself, because football is such a determined rival, that “she” comes along with her friend called alcohol and together they dominate my man. All I can do is surrender him to this unholy alliance.
He even lies about overtime and penalties, even when there were none. I always listen to him lying to me through his teeth; apparently, he had to be late because he and the boys had to wait for one team to score.
Women are not damn, you know. Some might hate football but we know exactly what is cooking. What kind of woman would I be if I did not know what time the game ends if my man is not at home? I honestly have to accept that what they (football & alcohol) have to offer, I cannot even begin to imagine offering, even half of it.
However, that is because I reminded myself that some men are like little children, they obsess about something for a while and like every other child, they have a way of being tamed and put back in line.
And now that football has taken a break, I will either tame or blame him, for I refuse to come second after football.