Troubles and Treats
Page 49The guys are already planning on coming to Veronica’s game, so I let them know they will get their chance to form an opinion the following afternoon. As we say our good-byes and pull out of the parking lot, I'm actually excited about this. My boys will meet this tool and realize what a loser he is and then we can all warn Jenny together. Like an intervention. A Fuck Face intervention. She’ll thank me by getting naked and our lives will go back to the way they should be.
~
“No! Wrong way, Alex! The touchdown is that way!” Jenny screams, pointing to the opposite end of the field where little Alex is currently running with the soccer ball.
“It’s a GOAL, Jenny. A GOAL! Touchdown is in football,” I tell her quickly as we both start yelling from the sidelines for Alex to turn around.
“Oh my God, this soccer thing is hard. Why are there so many rules for three and four year olds?” Jenny complains as she pulls one of the kids out of the game for a break and gets Veronica ready to take her place.
“Hey, Drew. I need to tell you something,” Jenny says as she hands Veronica her water bottle.
Oh shit, she’s going to tell me she’s leaving me. This can’t happen!
“Nope, no talking. This is a serious game. Pay attention.”
Jenny rolls her eyes at me and squats down to talk to Veronica.
“Okay, honey, remember, don’t take the ball away from your teammates. And if you get the ball, spike it all the way down the track,” Jenny explains to a confused Veronica.
“Soccer sucks,” Veronica complains, folding her arms in front of her and refusing to move.
“I know, soccer totally sucks and it will probably make you g*y. But there’s not much else to pick from when you’re three. Suck it up and go make me a goal!” I tell her as I grab her shoulders, turn her around to face the field and give her a little shove.
“Okay, seriously. You and I need to talk. I have something I need-”
The ref blows the whistle right next to Jenny for the kickoff, and she stops in the middle of her sentence to wince. There’s a flurry of kids all racing for the ball, hitting and shoving and pulling hair to get to it. They don’t care what team they’re playing for; the just want the ball. It’s soccer anarchy.
“NO, JUSTIN! WE DON’T BITE IN SOCCER!” Jenny yells to one of the kids.
“Get the ball, Veronica! Take that ball away and pitch it past the catcher!”
“You are majorly screwing up your sports talk. Pitch and catcher are for baseball,” I explain to her as the crowd erupts in cheers when someone makes a goal. No clue who made it or what team just got the point because all these little bastards look the same.
“But we get two points for a basket, right?” she asks as the kids come in for a water break.
“No, you get one point for a goal. Basket is in basketball.”
“Dribbling is basketball and soccer.”
“Who stops someone from dribbling in basketball?” she asks.
“Defense.”
“Then who stops them from dribbling a ball in soccer?”
“The defender,” I tell her, wondering if this is going to turn into the worst “Who’s on First” moment in history.
“Whatever, as long as they don’t kill each other, I don’t care. Anyway, we really need to talk about something important and-”
“Shhhhhhhhh!” I tell her, putting my finger against her lips. “Game. We play. No talk.”
Fuck! I sound like a God dammed Neanderthal but I can’t help it. Whatever important thing she needs to tell me is probably going to be that she’s decided she wants a younger penis that likes to eat vanilla.
Luckily, something shiny distracts her. Unfortunately, that shiny thing is Fuckson, Mr. Vanilla himself.
He saunters (yes, I said saunters, shut it) over to us and hey, look at that. He’s wearing a f**king shirt for once.
“Jackson! You made it,” she says with a smile as she gives crap hole a quick hug before ushering the team back out on the field.
“OH MY GOSH YAAAAY! I’m so excited you’re here!” I squeal in sarcastic delight, clapping my hands together and jumping up and down.
Jenny gives me a dirty look before turning away to face Vaginal Itch Vanilla.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world! You’re doing a great job coaching. Drew, you didn’t play soccer in school, did you?” shit dick asks.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not good enough to play soccer? He doesn’t think I know how to play sports? Did this shit on a shingle just insult me?
“What, you don’t think I would totally kick ass at soccer?” I ask him, trying to rein in my anger before I’m kicked out of a peewee soccer game for bloodying someone’s face.
“Oh, no! I didn’t mean that at all! I just meant, with your size, I’m betting you played football or rugby. Some full contact sport where you could really kick ass and not just run around the field. You seem like you could play a mean game of football.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">