I want to *****-slap him. Laughing all the while, of course. Kind of like when someone plays a practical joke on you and you get pissed, but not really angry, and you call him a bastard and smack him. (Or at least that's what you do if you're a girl, as I am.)
He pulled it off. It was a ***** move, and one that is certainly not within the rules, but ***** move or not, he had his wits about him.
I was talking to my mama on the phone last night. The conversation went something like this:
Mom: Should we be worried?
Me: Did you see the last game?
Me: Were they shooting the puck?
Me: Well, if they weren't shooting, I wouldn't worry because that means they can start trying. If they're shooting, that means the puck isn't getting past Rinne.
Mom: They're shooting. Are you worried.
Me: If they're shooting, I'm worried.
Mom: Oh, then I'm worried.
Dear Red Wings,
My Mama is worried. Please don't make her sad. Please score lots of goals more than Nashville does and win the game.