Ice ice, baby
Thank God the Olympics are over. Ice skating events are ruining my marriage.
My fascination with Olympic skaters has been as bad for my love life than the flannel sock monkey pajamas. The minute I hear commentator Dick Button's smug tones ("Very unattractive free leg!") mixed with classical standards streaming over a PA system, I drop whatever I'm doing to park myself before the television, and I don't move until I see three tearful, sequined skaters standing on their plastic guards on a podium. (That's why it's been days since my last blog entry.) I can't get enough ice skating.
Is it a girl thing? I think so. The menfolk in the family only spent about five minutes taking in the ice events. That was the night the Russian chick in the white fringed pasties came out looking like she would have been more at home going around a pole than a rink. After a few lewd comments suggesting names for some of the more provocative skating moves, my son Beavis and my husband Butthead busied themselves with other manly things.
Every night this week has been pretty much the same. Sometime after 10p.m. David mutters a grumpy goodnight and wearily kisses me on the head while I remain transfixed by the bugle-beaded, lacquered ponytailed skaters. I adored the swan hand puppet outfit worn by lighter-than-air Johnny Weir, who I pray won't be jumped and beaten by some beefy hockey players for his arrogant prancing. I admire everything about these people: their mega-thighs, their blur spins, the sheer lycra fabric panels holding their Vera Wang costume pieces together.
I thought the events were over yesterday, but nooooo — tonight was the greatest event of all: a gala of champions with ALL the skaters showing off their strength and artistry without the competitive pressure of having to land a triple salchow/triple toe-loop-combination followed by a triple lutz. And all in a shimmering array of never-before-seen scanty costumes! And while my snoring husband — who I have scarely seen for nearly a week — sleeps, I catch up on another guilty pleasure, writing in this blog.
Time for goodnight. Let the other games begin!