NFL Divorcee Week 3: Hell At Its Freshest

On a Sunday afternoon, I’m sorry: using the sofa requires pants. Even if all friends, family, neighbors, coworkers, deliverymen, acquaintances, and Jehovah’s Witnesses always call before coming, why should only a layer of frayed cotton separate furniture from testicles? Brad’s stand was not wearing pants, so we compromised on a bathrobe. I should have said cover yourself  with a bathrobe, and keep it closed.

Last week’s post notwithstanding, no one’s really a widow during the NFL season. I imagine widowhood to be utter loneliness and longing, or maybe respite and bliss. Instead, you have to deal with the worst traits of that slouch who doesn’t touch you since a fumble that happened two weeks ago. So NFL Divorcee is more apt, though actual divorced women may have the fortune of not sharing a house with an only-technically dressed lug. Game days now hang over me like Damocles’ scrotum.

But enough about me for now. I received several… I guess you can’t really call questions some of these things I received:I’ll tell you this: feeling unnoticed, and wholly incapable of awakening desire, is agony. On the other hand, if you’re going to make a pass, don’t just sling something haphazardly hoping it works. And please, PLEASE men that are coy: ugh, you come off as insecure boys. Some women and folk may fall for it, and even find endearing such half-assed attempts because no one likes to feel they were invested in an overvalued jerk. Illusion nourishes comfort, just like the “Beef” stamped on a Vienna Sausage can.

Listen, you have to put some work into it. For instance:

I can’t speak for your girlfriend, but any woman should feel lucky for having her man forgo a game for a night of passion. And I’m pretty certain that Schenectady has a lively anal scene, so your monogamy is very sweet. Don’t force the issue; some women just find it abhorrent. But, if it’s gonna happen, you’ll be on prime time. Don’t pussy out on prime time, Tiger.

Sorry, that was too crass. But then again,

No self-respecting woman should even grant the slightest attention to such objectifying and untoward advances from anyone. Anyone, Christian Grey included. It’s incredibly worrisome how little fiction, movies, books, etc. depict a man / woman interaction in which they are on equal footing. Which is why I was immensely cheered by this actual question:

No, no no no no. No: you did the right thing. People might get mad when tested (men especially; I have never understood why). So what if you mislead him? You did it because you care enough about him to find out if he’ll be understanding and serene when you purposely:

1. forget to set the DVR when all the family goes to grandma’s that one fall Sunday per year (it’s one freakin’ Sunday for Christ’s sake);
2. buy him a jersey for his birthday and then, every time he wears it, ask if it’s a childhood nostalgia thing or plain immaturity that makes middle-aged, lazy paunchy guys wear sports apparel; or
3. ask him if he’s angry at you, hearing him say no, telling him you don’t think so, him getting more annoyed–and then you get angry AT HIM because he obviously was angry at all times and lying to you.

Men have no idea how women work, think, and feel. My marriage and Mom’s droning on to me about father has shown me the immense chasm separating men and women’s attitudes, perceptions, and interests. Yes, people are diverse and gender is not the end-all / be-all of personality–but I do know this: when the NFL starts, most men immediately acquire the same priorities. The only variation concerns what’s number one: actual football, or fantasy football, a conundrum so effing childish and stupid that I’m just gonna take a walk now for a little while and maybe stomp on and kick and spit on and burn a bathrobe. Henceforth, Brad will always get khakis for Father’s Day.

The just thing would be for men to remain tethered to civilization during football. That will never happen by itself or by their own initiative: improvement would only come through action, not just endurance. But this Hell that is the NFL season is at its freshest right now, and my righteous fight is currently on hold. At least until I build resistance to that ungodly beer-cheese-BO stench that doesn’t go away until Valentine’s Day.

So I make a call to all women: let’s ignore the differences that divide us, and concentrate on our common struggles, experiences, and aims. We may feel lonely and neglected, but let it be only by men and their passion for football players. Us women should seek only inner plenitude, not male attention or validation. Having had history, culture, and social mores denigrate us just because we’re not men, it is up to us, women, to band together in solidarity. 

Next week I expect less come-ons and more questions. Oh; it seems like I had skipped a tweet:

Thanks to Low Commander of the Super Soldiers, nomonkeyfun, yeah right, Covalent Blonde, and Horatio Cornblower for questions, suggestions, and ideas. Top art by Klemass, via Deviant Art