Hello, husband’s friends! Thanks for coming over to watch The Big Game! I like all of your specifically-colored-yet-purposefully-unbranded jerseys. Let’s go, Our Team! Me, I don’t wear one of those jerseys. One of those jerseys would be too darn big for me! Almost big enough to fit over my fat, stubbly husband! Ha. Ha! Ha. No, the only thing that complements my effortlessly curly hair and shimmering doe-eyes is a little cotton T-shirt matching Our Team’s dominant color with tiny little stripes on the sleeves that match the accent color. It’s cut just tight enough to make clear that I am a Pretty Hot Girl but loose enough to remind you that I am primarily a Cool Wife.
But what am I going on and on for? Please, grab a seat on one of our three sofas! I’ll sit here, next to my slovenly, balding husband. You wouldn’t believe the idiotic thing he did earlier while we were preparing to host this Big Game party to root for Our Team! Boy, did I give him a dismissive-yet-bemused look. Ha. Ha! Ha. Luckily he went to The Store and got some Snack Dip because when you get right down to it, all you need to cheer on Your Team in the Big Game are your multiethnic buddies and Snack Dip!
And boy is it great to be here with all my multiethnic buddies! Well, I mean my stupid, sweaty husband’s multiethnic buddies. After all, I’m not a One-of-The-Guys Girl. I’d have to be blonde, five years younger, and wearing a cute amount of eye black to be a One-of-The-Guys Girl! Me, I’m just a Cool Wife, sitting alone amidst all my White Husband’s multiethnic buddies. Good thing too, because if there was another Cool Wife here, we’d have to give you all dismissive-yet-bemused looks, and The Big Game is no time for that!
Here, Handsome Light-Skinned Black Friend, have a Beverage Bottle with the label steamed off. Here, Slender Asian Friend, have this Chicken Wing of Unknown Origin. And here, Maybe-Latino-Maybe-Ashkenazi Friend, have this foam finger that just says “#1” on it. That’s what fans of Our Team like to wave in their houses when watching the Big Game!
Now you all probably want to grab a big handful of Parent Company Snack Chips so you can throw them in the air in slow motion when Our Team does something good in the Big Game. Boy, would it be funny if a deep announcer voice narrated our party like it was a Serious Professional Football Film while all those chips were in the air and Maybe-Latino-Maybe-Ashkenazi Friend was waving his foam finger! Ha. Ha! Ha. Maybe I’d even kiss my disheveled, gout-ridden husband in excitement so as to reaffirm that Snack Dip and multiethnic buddies really are all you need to have a great time, even if you’re a pathetic, neutered White Husband aged twenty to thirty-five with a modicum of disposable income to spend on said Snack Dip!
Please, go ahead and throw your Parent Company Snack Chips in the air. Don’t worry about the mess! I’ll happily crawl around the entire living room picking fine orange dust out of our medium-pile carpet after you’ve all left so I can delay having nauseating, token intercourse with my drunk, flatulent, scabby husband. Ha. Ha! Ha.