Getting my game on.

This morning once again proved that sex is better than football, regardless of what Cowbell has to say.

For starters, you do not go at it for about 2 seconds and then have to spend 20 minutes getting back into position while some high school marching band plays irritating, jangly, interpretations of pop tunes that make you want to jam sharp pencils into your ears to make it stop.

You do not have to wear a helmet and 40 lbs. of protective padding.

There is no jerk in a striped jersey blowing a whistle at you.

It does not require a coach to tell you what to do next.

You do not have to hire a squad of cheerleaders.

You do no have a stadium full of fat drunks watching you.

There is a far slimmer chance you are going to break anything while having sex. Okay, at least not in a bad way.

If I have any complaint about this mornings game, it is that while we were ready willing and able to go into overtime, we had to go to work and FB was being all Mr. Responsible. (If it had been my decision, we'd probably still be going at it)

In case you haven't guessed, FB emailed me and we were doing the deed from around 6 this morning till a little after 8. That's when he looked at the clock, said he had to be at work at 9, and we went for the touchdown.

I am hoping he has a lovely vacation with the sibs on Lake Michigan and that he gets lots of rest, because I'm already up for a rematch.