I went with Adam to the first home game of the NY Jets. He isn’t so much a fan of the team, but many of those in my family are fans and we knew it would be a good tailgate party. But, It may have been too good.
The beer was flowing and going down smooth – before I knew it, I had finished more than a six pack myself. As I was telling a very animated story - making what I thought was perfect sense - Adam came over to save those listening to me stumble and laugh through my tale and told me that we were heading into the stadium.
Before getting to our seats, we stopped for more beer (of course, because not having a drink in hand for a hot second is purely unacceptable) and a box of fries. It was about this time that the alcohol kicked in and we were starving and making really poor choices about what to eat because not only did we have fries – we had them dump a ladle of hot, thick, golden nacho cheese all over them as well.
We got to our seats with our beers and our box of a fried heart attack in hand. As you may figure, the fries were messy. It was the kind of meal where you had more of it on your fingers than in your mouth. I don’t know if it was the intoxicated state of mind or what, but it was truly gloriously gross. Just as I lifted a giant cheesed-up fry to my big mouth, two fans sat in front of us. They were both dressed in head-to-toe football gear. He was good looking, but she was ridiculous. I swear she may have just walked off the field to come and sit down because obviously she was a cheerleader or a player’s wife or some shit where it is mandated that you are super-hot. No laymen woman looked this good in a football Jersey, or had hair this shiny, or wore painted on jeans and didn’t have even a little muffin-top. This girl may have never eaten a cheese fry in her life.
I caught myself staring; I also caught the fact that I had a huge blob of cheese on the side of my mouth while I was gawking over at her in complete (and warranted) envy. Naturally because God wants to laugh at my life, this chick sat right down in front of me. I guess it is better than her sitting in front of Adam. I knew I couldn’t sit the whole game and wonder about why she was so perfect and how…so I told myself that it’s totally OK to be a woman with curves. To celebrate this thought, I ate another fry. And then another.
For my last fry, I rubbed it against the bottom of the box to get as much cheese as I could. It was the perfect last bite and just as I was putting it toward my watering mouth, something happened on the field and Adam threw his arms in the air – but not before knocking into my elbow. At which point the cheese-laden fry flew out from between my fingers and landed in front of me. Well, in front of me and in the hair of the ball field beauty.
I gasped so loud and then started to laugh. I didn’t know whether to try and pull it out and risk her feeling it – or just let it sit there. A perfect blob of melted cheese nestled in her dark brown hair. I didn’t do anything – I just stared at it, wondering if her boyfriend would think it odd that her hair smelled like cheese for like, the first time ever.
And deep down inside, this moment felt satisfyingly more delicious than a big fat plate of cheese fries ever tasted. The beautiful became the blemished. And I dared not to think that with her luck, there would be some newfound study that cheese was an organic remedy for the best hair ever.
The beer was flowing and going down smooth – before I knew it, I had finished more than a six pack myself. As I was telling a very animated story - making what I thought was perfect sense - Adam came over to save those listening to me stumble and laugh through my tale and told me that we were heading into the stadium.
Before getting to our seats, we stopped for more beer (of course, because not having a drink in hand for a hot second is purely unacceptable) and a box of fries. It was about this time that the alcohol kicked in and we were starving and making really poor choices about what to eat because not only did we have fries – we had them dump a ladle of hot, thick, golden nacho cheese all over them as well.
We got to our seats with our beers and our box of a fried heart attack in hand. As you may figure, the fries were messy. It was the kind of meal where you had more of it on your fingers than in your mouth. I don’t know if it was the intoxicated state of mind or what, but it was truly gloriously gross. Just as I lifted a giant cheesed-up fry to my big mouth, two fans sat in front of us. They were both dressed in head-to-toe football gear. He was good looking, but she was ridiculous. I swear she may have just walked off the field to come and sit down because obviously she was a cheerleader or a player’s wife or some shit where it is mandated that you are super-hot. No laymen woman looked this good in a football Jersey, or had hair this shiny, or wore painted on jeans and didn’t have even a little muffin-top. This girl may have never eaten a cheese fry in her life.
I caught myself staring; I also caught the fact that I had a huge blob of cheese on the side of my mouth while I was gawking over at her in complete (and warranted) envy. Naturally because God wants to laugh at my life, this chick sat right down in front of me. I guess it is better than her sitting in front of Adam. I knew I couldn’t sit the whole game and wonder about why she was so perfect and how…so I told myself that it’s totally OK to be a woman with curves. To celebrate this thought, I ate another fry. And then another.
For my last fry, I rubbed it against the bottom of the box to get as much cheese as I could. It was the perfect last bite and just as I was putting it toward my watering mouth, something happened on the field and Adam threw his arms in the air – but not before knocking into my elbow. At which point the cheese-laden fry flew out from between my fingers and landed in front of me. Well, in front of me and in the hair of the ball field beauty.
I gasped so loud and then started to laugh. I didn’t know whether to try and pull it out and risk her feeling it – or just let it sit there. A perfect blob of melted cheese nestled in her dark brown hair. I didn’t do anything – I just stared at it, wondering if her boyfriend would think it odd that her hair smelled like cheese for like, the first time ever.
And deep down inside, this moment felt satisfyingly more delicious than a big fat plate of cheese fries ever tasted. The beautiful became the blemished. And I dared not to think that with her luck, there would be some newfound study that cheese was an organic remedy for the best hair ever.
