Super Slip Sliding Away

Mistress and Slave had a rather laid back Super Sunday.  Of course, there was your traditional wake - up sex, some afternoon worship and a nice nap before we headed across the Mason Dixon line to the home of acquaintances that Mistress has met through her work. 

This was one of those ex-urban communities that is pretty unfamiliar to Mistress and slave: A huge, treeless subdivision of McMansions on proportionately too small lots. Yeah, I know I am sounding like some urbanista snob.  But it's true that we have been sheltered from this sort of lifestyle. 

Once inside we found the typical selection of Super Bowl foods - cheese, chili, fritos. Mistress found some tasty bourbon, and slave nursed some red wine. The crowd was a little different from who we might typically hang with on the annual ritual of commercial and cultural excess that is uniquely American.  

Slave is old enough to remember the first super bowl. We've come a long way from Len Dawson, the Kansas City QB, smoking a cigarette and drinking a Fresca at half time, while Al Hirt tooted some New Orleans tune at the 50 yd. line.

Slave found himself out on the back deck, with a view of a meandering stream and a sanitary sewer pumping station. I took  tips from a neighbor of our hosts on the best guns to use to snuff out my prairie dog problem at our SW hideaway. He described some special plastic tipped pellets on the market now that expand on impact and leave a fist size exit wound.

"Make yourself a blind.  Then you can just lay back there and pop off those varmints one right after another...."

"you mean sitting in my lounge chair won't cut it?"

I don;t think he got the joke, and  actually made me feel sorry for my sordid little varmints.

In any event, the game did not go quite the way I expected.

Sorry, Donna.  I hoped you put your vibrators to good use before the score was final.  Because you had a heads up by half-time, when it became apparent that Clark Kent, rather than Superman showed up. Maybe the Panthers forgot to have a phone booth handy on the sidelines?

And Mike, our erstwhile Western Correspondent, congratulations on your team's upset victory. That defense sure is fearsome. While PFM got his 200th victory, he didn't have to contribute much to pull off the victory, did he? When the Donkeys handed off the ball at 3rd and 9 with only a 6 point lead and 6 or so minutes to go in the game, you could tell they had little faith in the Ol' Sheriff's arm and a lot more confidence in their defense. And their punter.

As I understand the terms of your bet with Donna, she must now forego use of her vibrator collection for the rest of the week. And you now have license to dip back into your vat of lube for the week to come. I am sure you will put it all to good use. 

Donna, I feel your pain!  And we look forward to a report on how you cope with this sad privation over the next few days.  Somehow I think you will be the Mother of Invention.