What’s the over-under on my husband forgetting Mother’s Day?
I’m just kidding. The only problem is he’ll do something nice and, in return, I’ll have to acknowledge Father’s Day. The hardest thing about that holiday is I can’t think of anything to do for him that will also benefit me.
Here’s an idea: if I sat naked on a Phillies rally towel would the emblem emboss in my flesh?
I’d sit on it like an old mother hen. It’ll be like laying my own Philly. I’m sorry, was I thinking out loud?
Actually it doesn’t matter what my old man gets me because we have tickets to today’s game and they’re handing out Jayson Werth blankets to every mother 15 years of age and older. (It’s kind of creepy how they have to qualify that.) Anyway, I can’t wait to drape myself in him when I admire my Phils on TV, and I - and only I - will know that I’m really fantasizing about being wrapped in the arms of my favorite right fielder.
Speaking of Jayson. I don’t think I’ve shown Pat Gillick enough graciousness for bringing that sprawling six foot five athletic piece of eye candy into Citizens Bank Park. Thank you, Pat. I’m sure he did it simply for the girls. Why else would they put him on a Mother’s Day blanket?
So women everywhere can fantasize about getting him in… well, their house.
The only problem is, he’s not naked.
Happy Mother’s Day.