Wednesday, January 8, 2014

I Beat my Husband

That's right, baby! I beat Ryan at Kinect soccer! If you know my previous experience as a soccer star, you will find this especially amusing. Eleven snow days + 2 weeks of Christmas break + lotsa fudge and cookies + basically being a sacka for a month = feeling a little on the chubby side. So, I hatched brilliant fitness plan - use the Kinect for exercise and family fun, cleverly dubbed: Mama's Fitness Time Bonus Video Gaming Privilege. The first attempt made me want to punch everyone in the house, ending with the Kinect sensor that can't simultaneously read my 5"10" frame and Squiggie's 2'10" one. But we got the kinks worked out today and had a family competition in boxing, track, and soccer.  One of the rules of MFTBVGP is that it's for Mama to sweat her fat butt off, so she gets a turn all the time (unless she wants to kick box the gaming system - then she does mad sit ups on the side while short people work the controls). So, tonight, I versed one boy at a time. Of course, Mr. Fitness wanted in on the action.

Let me first explain the competitiveness of Mr. Fitness. I would consider myself to be a competitive person, yes, but I've got nothin' on my main man (in fact, that would be another thing he claims he's better at than me). I realized this the first Easter he took me to his mom and dad's house. The family thought it would be fun to have an Easter egg hunt for old-time's sake. I schooled the whole family like the Easter Bunny was my brotha! And my fairly-new boyfriend was ticked! Like, for real, ticked. He complained about unfair advantages (on his home turf, mind you), told me that he let me win, and tried to steal eggs from my basket. Dude has issues...

So, of course, Mr. Gloatypants was rubbing it in when he beat me in boxing on a TKO and threw farther than me in javelin and discus (which are totally lame on the Kinect, fyi). There was much trash talk and victory dancing. I played it cool. Then I dominated him in soccer. For the first two goals, it was obviously because of a computer glitch. Then, it was because I'd used a cheat code. Then he started to figure out the game and score a few goals and magically the glitch was fixed and the cheat code had expired. But when I scored the final goal and time ran out, I could see true anger in his eyes. Was there a bit of trash talking and dancing? Oh yeah. I may have even pulled the Mia Hamm pose (I left my shirt on, but only because  of the aforementioned cookie equation). And then we had several minutes of knock-down drag-out fighting playful banter about skill levels and statistical impossibility of me beating him at anything and reality and what competitions we should have right now and sportsmanship and passing on horrible traits to certain little poor sports and playmakers making plays. Maybe not the best example to set for children, but they gotta learn about the heart of a champion somewhere - and that would be from me. The Champion.

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