Dear Kobe Bryant,
Get ready to be blamed for everything that goes wrong in my relationship.
I am a full-fledged NBA playoff widow. Basically, this means that I am left to fend for myself during all Lakers-Celtics games. I know that the Blackhawks are on their way to Stanley Cup victory, but it’s basketball that is taking over my extracurricular credit hours. I’m dating a guy who literally punctuates his sentences with random “Kobe!” shouts.
Me: Let’s go get something to eat.
Tall, Dark and Handsome (TDH, for short): Burgers sound good…Kobe!
Because TDH is ridiculously handsome, I always find myself watching the game from his couch…or as I like to call it, drinking wine while daydreaming.
Things that could happen while I am being ignored:
- I could catch on fire
- I could be attacked by a savage bunny
- I could have a really awesome time drinking champagne with Michael Buble…pretty sure Kobe is the only thing standing in the way.
- My eyes will fry from the amount of times I’m checking Twitter
- I could switch your salt with sugar in your shaker…accident!
- I could lose your Kobe shoes in a well…also an accident!
It gets worse. I am also a playoff orphan! My parents, especially my dad, are crazy about basketball. I was raised on more basketball as a child than milk. And who are my parents’ team? The Celtics.
Mom: Who’s your team?
Mom: I used to like you.
Now, I’m stuck in a Capulets vs. Montagues face-off. How do I choose a side when I could care less who wins?
Looks like I’m just going to join the Blackhawks bandwagon, at least those games are being played in bars.