Thursday, October 07, 2004

Hot Wife Can Beat You Up

I made peace long ago with the fact that I am not a terribly attractive human being. I went through my youth thinking I was at least moderately handsome, and then one day I looked in the mirror and realized I look like Ichabod Crane. My atom’s apple is the size of a granny smith, I currently do not own a chin, and let's not even talk about my nose.

I believed throughout my high school and college years that my homely appearance would banish me to a lifetime of wedded misery to an equally haggard spouse. We’d have a few ugly kids and spend every Friday night picking peas and carrots out of her yellow teeth after a visit to Hometown Buffet. “Hey, here’s a good one, honey. Looks like we have lunch for tomorrow.”

Yet somehow, through a stroke of good fortune I have attributed to payback for my years of suffering through my sister’s flute lessons, I ended up with Hot Wife. An important distinction must be made here: Hot Wife is not hot compared to me, which would be akin to saying mint chip ice cream tastes good compared to a mouthful of dog shit. Hot Wife is just plain hot. In comparison to everything. And if you touch her I’ll kill you.

Hot Wife reached lofty new heights of hotness this week with the revelation that she wants to become an aerobics instructor.

Let me say that again.


I just find that so incredibly sexy. I sometimes see guys who stand at the window and eyeball the aerobics instructors with such ferocity that the manager has to ask them to stop licking the windows. Why the ogling? Because aerobics instructors are fit, they’re healthy, they’re bouncy, they wear tight clothes that don’t cover their midriffs and most of them can kick my ass and drink a smoothie at the same time. Now, despite my appearance, one of them is going to be sleeping in my bed and putting her freezing cold feet on me in the wintertime. I haven’t read the handbook, but I believe her hotness makes me hot by association.

I didn’t attend my 10-year high school reunion because I was a loser with no friends in high school and I didn’t care to relive that hell. We may have been a decade older but there were no guarantees that the jocks had grown out of their desire to squeeze my head into a locker and dump my Thermos full of Spaghetti-Os into my backpack. But with my 20-year reunion looming and Hot Wife engaging in a career in studliness, the thought of attending seems more appealing.

To wit, a reunion-related daydream from earlier this afternoon:

“Hey, guys,” I say, tapping Butch, the biggest and most ruthless of the neckless goons, on the shoulder. “How’s it going? Remember me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Butch says. “You’re that dork. Gimme $20 or I’ll pound your scrawny ass like I used to after gym class.”

Say I: “Sorry, Butch. All I have is hundreds. Oh, by the way, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Hot Wife, The Aerobics Instructor.”

It becomes a blur at this point. Hot Wife’s arms and legs begin to flail violently in Butch’s direction.

There is blood. It’s Butch’s.

There is screaming. That’s Butch’s, too.

In an instant, it’s over. Butch lies on the floor, groaning and holding his testicles. Hot Wife runs her right index finger across her right eyebrow and flicks a little ball of sweat onto Butch’s wrecked carcass. Then she grabs my hand, escorts me to the dance floor and we do The Chicken Dance until dawn.


At 9:49 PM, Blogger PedroTheBruin said...

I married my aerobics instructor. She still works out every day. I don't. Rip-off for her.

At 5:53 AM, Blogger Sue said...

I am you, but female....I am NOT the Hot Wife...and I, sort of, feel what your sayin'...I have Hot Hubby...he works out (I don't) and since I'm a stay-at-home I've made sure he understands that if His Hotness does ANYTHING remotely adulterous, His Hotness will, most severely, pay for it! MUWAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA

At 8:54 AM, Blogger Richard Henderson said...

If you're looking Aerobic Activity resources then why not check out this site Aerobic Activity


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