My husband and my sister are having an affair. That’s right, you read that correctly. My HUSBAND. And my SISTER. AN AFFAIR. And they’re all about rubbing it in my face. For theirs is an affair that I can only peek into, hard as I try to drive a wedge between them. Seems my husband and my sister are having an affair — over sports.
“Your sister sent me an e-mail,” he says to me. “She wants to come over Saturday to watch the Notre Dame game.”
“Ok,” I say.
A few hours later:
“Your sister will be here at 11 on Saturday.”
“But the game is at, like, 2:30,” I say.
“Yeah… but the Hawks are on at 11,” he says.
College football and hockey? I cannot compete with that.
While they were off in their affair-world, I went all Magnum PI on them and snapped this piece of photographic evidence:
Can you even believe the nerve of them, right there on my fine Value City Furniture sectional? Oh, the humanity! To make matters worse, I, for some reason, created a whole delicious snack tray for them to enjoy on their date:
Look at that! Fresh veggies chopped and sliced by my own little arthritic fingers. And yes, that’s pita chips AND pita bread. The fact that my homemade black bean humus actually looks like a soft-serve poop didn’t stop them from enjoying every little bite either. What did I do? It’s like I’m part of the problem. And if that wasn’t enough, they had to watch baseball, despite the fact that both their teams had been eliminated weeks ago.
There were rattled off stats and names of people I will never remember. There were memories of wins and losses gone by. There were discussions of the upcoming hockey season and the nonstop badmouthing of Blackhawk goalie Cristobal Huet, and all I could add to the conversation was “what a funny first name he has!” I don’t think they even heard my enormously funny wisecrack! If I’m not wrong, there were a handful of fistbumps.
It’s not just the games either. They send eachother text messages ALL THE FREAKING TIME about whatever team is playing whatever game at whatever time. And it’s not like I’m some sports novice. I pay attention. I can follow a baseball or football game better than a whole lot of other women I know. Hockey — meh, no one is perfect. But am I good enough? No. He has to go searching for companionship elsewhere… but he sticks to my own family tree. Like, two limbs over.
What do I do? How do I stop this?
I know this much. Kayla is no longer invited to my house during college football season. I cannot handle making another trayful of snacks so my husband can enter a three-way with my sister and one of my closest friends.