Super Bowl Bitch

My ideal football watching experience consists of me sitting in my big fluffy chair with a beverage, and maybe a light snack with nobody else around to bother me.  It is basically how I planned to watch the Super Bowl. No hoopla of being in a bar, no theme party, just me with the added benefit of being able to take a nice nap during the Katy Perry halftime show. That is how I pictured it until Saturday afternoon when Mark announced that he was going to invite some people over on Sunday. He was going to make some chicken wings, some barbeque ribs, and some homemade coleslaw along with homemade, from scratch, brownies.

Sunday morning rolled around. I walked the dogs, made breakfast, farted around on facebook for a little bit, and then went back to bed for my Sunday morning nap.

"I need you to clean up the kitchen so I can start cooking." Mark ordered in a loud squeak.

It was my worst fear come true. I would not be able to lay around like a sloth all day and watch the Super Bowl in peace. I would have to be Mark's bitch all day. So I got out of bed, went into the kitchen, and started cleaning up the morning mess. The first thing I did was empty out the dishwasher. I bent over, grabbed some dishes, and twisted around to put them up in a cabinet. I felt it immediately. The whole right side of my back felt like I had just been rabbit punched. I had pulled a muscle. As the day wore on the pain only got worse. Yet despite the pain I still had to keep the kitchen clean. With each passing hour Mark would make a new mess in the kitchen (He can't even boil a pan of water without pulling out every kitchen gadget and spilling crap everywhere). So all day long I had to keep up with Mark and his eternal messiness. I know I could have put my foot down. I could have said absolutely not, no Super Bowl chicken wings, no Super Bowl ribs, no brownies, no visitors, no bothering me in any way while I watch football. That would have been quite ballsy on my part. But I know Mark's cooking. I know how good his chicken wings and ribs are. That's why, without too much complaining, I was Mark's Super Bowl Bitch. Oh, and he didn't invite a whole bunch of people. He only invited one person over, but he cooked for ten.