What Women Were REALLY Doing While Men Were Watching the 2012 Super Bowl
(While millions of men watched the 2012 Super Bowl, many women did not. Smethanie tells us what those women did instead.)
Super Bowl Sunday – there was excitement in the air, mixed with the smell of wings and spilled beer. It didn't matter if your team played – you’re men and you sat in packs in front of television sets across the world -- grunting, yelling, cheering, fist-bumping, farting (yes, we heard that).
It’s a man’s man’s day. It’s man to the 10th power. It’s a day celebrating all that lawn-mowing, spider-killing, jar-opening, “does-this-make-me-look-fat?” answering you’ve done the other 364 days of the year. You drank, ate, scratched your balls unapologetically. And while there was Madonna thrown in to keep your lady from flipping the channel to Lifetime, the night wasn't about her, beyond her expertise and ability to hustle in the kitchen.
What you don’t know is that Super Bowl Sunday was as much of a holiday to the ladies. While you were preoccupied by Neanderthals in helmets and tights (I mean, really, let’s just all admit they’re tights. Who are we lying to?) we had a night uninterrupted to live out our wildest fantasies. While you were watching the big game, here’s what your women were doing:
"This bed is so bouncy! Oooh, Monica, WARDROBE MALFUNCTION! Let me lick that whipped cream off you, Veronica."
While wearing lingerie, of course. Women of the world, UNITE!
"I can't believe they get off on feeling all macho by 'saving' us.' [Giggle, giggle]
In lingerie. And beating all your high scores.
"What if, instead of football being the main event and the halftime show being crammed into 15 minutes, we reversed it? It can be a concert/Broadway show with a football break in the middle! And glitter. So much glitter!"
"OMG, he wet the bed until he was 12? Aww. He must have been so embarrassed. No wonder he doesn't like my waterbed."
"Oooh, are those Manolo Blahniks on sale? No? Then I’ll take two pairs!"
Every sandwich. All of them. Now you get in the kitchen barefoot and with a bowling ball strapped to your abdomen.
We wear tiny, sexy togas and feed that sexy, sexy man, big, juicy grapes, pushing them past his delicious lips, onto his wet tongue, uhhhh, this leads me to my last item...