I'm not complaining. Really I'm not. I have the greatest wife and we get along fantabulistically. But sheez Louise! Is there some kind of genetic defect that keeps them from understanding the importance of the
UFC?
Here I am watching the semi-final round of the ultimate fighter between
Nate Diaz and
Gray Maynard. It's a crucial moment when Diaz is executing an attempt at a
Kimora and Gray is pounding Nate's face to a bloody mess with his free hand. I notice out of the corner of my good eye that the Wife comes into the Octagon (living room)...
"I think we need to express our mama mummble dibblo burminjangle in a more gafiltazoid way. We're going to Dad's this weekend and my brimble nami kinju sprock."
What am I supposed to do now? Pretend that I understood that? Explain to her that her inane babblings will have to wait till the outcome of this match is decided? Ask her repeat it in English? Tell her I already checked the oil and the
peedycruzer is ready to go? Scream at the boy to take out the trash and/or feed the dogs?
I give her the sure-fire works-every-time response:
"uh huh"
I must have finally gotten through to her as she has disappeared into her domain. Diaz wins with a guillotine choke. During the commercial she comes out of the bedroom and brings me a pillow. I say "thanks, honey - is there any more beef jerky?" She goes back to the bedroom and LOCKS THE DOOR.
I look over at the Boy and give him the double thumbs up, "
MXC comes on next - nuke some kettle corn!"
Lovejoy made a great stepdad and Borat's Babymama was a fun and cute chick for Rod to awkwardly try to woo.
