Well, it was a rough time at the old hockey tournament. We had a great time the whole weekend, except for the actual hockey games. Bad times. It's no fun getting whupped on, especially since my job as goalkeeper is to prevent whuppings.
Then I got the whole tempest in a combox going. Or maybe it was the other guy, or both of us - at this point who cares, because it's petty and stupid. I would say something like "I can't believe I got so worked up about it," save for two things: one, I kind of can believe it. Second, I'm not really worked up about that. I'm worked up about fifteen other things and that whole thing just happened at the wrong time.
Bad fly!
Luckily for me, the Best Blog Game Mistress ever was coming up big in a big situation. Sitting on my porch this evening was a box of award goodness, thanks to Faramir's having kill'd with a sword the various leading ladies of professional tennis. (Figuratively.) Enclosed was a lovely card and a couple of other goodies.
The sculpture thing did not come in the box, by the way. That was the cake topper for our wedding. I put it in the picture because my Ladybug and I are planning on sharing the coffee, which is a decaf blend; and also from love for my wife as demonstrated in the conversation below. The cup is a Boheme original, and its waxy bottom will never know a beverage: we shall keep it in honor.
And we both loved the card -
Ladybug: I thought you were Nightfly.
Me: Yup, but for the game I was Faramir.
Ladybug: So I get to be Eowyn?
Me: Yup.
Ladybug: That rocks. She was much better than that elf chickie.
Me: You're thinking of Liv Tyler from the movie, right?
Ladybug: Yup. Elf Tyler. Quit crying.
Seriously, she is the best wife ever, right? From now on I can never call her Arwen; she's Elf Tyler, the daughter of Agent Smith.
So... Faramir wins! Hooray for Faramir! And thanks a million, Tracey.
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