Headaches, Hangovers & Puck Bunnies: A Horror Story.



At my husband’s recreational hockey game yesterday I actually had to get up, grab my bag and say to my fellow hockey-wife, “I can’t stand it anymore. I have to go sit somewhere else”. You see, the endless squealing escaping the lips of the young, blonde, opposing-team’s girlfriend sitting beside me was more than my head (or my nerves) could handle.

Focused or hungover?

Focused or hungover?

I just kept wishing she would shove the little, pink piglets that childishly adorned her mittens, down her seemingly endless throat.  In all honestly, I suppose I should be thankful that our men don’t play on the same time. The thought of going to every game together makes me gag a little.  Worse yet, we might even have to talk.  And I just wouldn’t have the patience to explain icing to her. And I don’t think she’d have the focus to listen.


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