I don’t know about you, but my favorite part of the weekend is the morning sex. Sleep late, wake up with nothing to do, lounge around in bed well, you get the picture. But you know what ruins any chances of a good Sunday morning romp? A 10 a.m. 49ers’ game. That’s right. Not only do I have to open my eyes when the alarm goes off and immediately think about how horrific the Niners play during early games on the road, but a 10 a.m. start also guarantees that this girl (who routinely gets home after 2 a.m. on Saturday night) is going to wake up too late to get any. Poor me, I know.
I barely rolled out of bed yesterday morning in time to throw on my Niners’ hoodie, brush my teeth, hop in the car and make it to the bar for kickoff. But, as I settled in with my adult beverage and watched the opening kickoff, I actually managed to forget all about my sexual frustration and instead, fell into a familiar old pattern of Sunday optimism. Maybe it’s because people in SF play too much Journey, perhaps it’s because I converted to Mormonism when I was 16, but when I walk into church, I mean, the bar, on Sundays, all rational thought goes out the window and I can’t help but believe that something good is ahead.
