A Good Slap Shot

My husband just headed out the door to his hockey game. He currently has a seven-game scoring streak going.

I find that so fucking hot.

Of all the stereotypically hot things he does (like strip out of a flight suit and combat boots every night) there is just something about a good slap shot that gets me wet.

Oh, I should mention, before he left he asked me if I had blogged today. When I said no he responded, "Well, come on. You've got people waiting. Write something sexy."

Sexy? Sexy!

First of all, who says, "sexy" in real life? Second of all, I've been called a lot of things. Like dirty, and slutty, and sexual, and kinky, and disgusting, and gross. But I have never been called sexy.

I was planning on writing about the beard I'm growing. Now that plan is shot to hell.

But hockey game night is usually sex night. Maybe I should go write something just for him. I have a bright future ahead of me writing letters to Penthouse.

"I never thought something like this would happen to me."

Update: Well, he scored tonight all right. His scoring streak is alive, but only on the ice, not in our bedroom.

Poor Tuna Man took a slap shot square in the nuts.

You're probably asking, "But, Tuna Girl, wasn't he wearing a cup?" And I asked the same thing. But apparently the boys hang low enough to get it from the rear.

Is it wrong that I can't stop giggling about this. I think it is adorable.

Poor, poor Tuna Man. He can't stop groaning.

So much for my Penthouse letter.