Chapter 41: The Bet

After the game, and the award ceremony, we left so we could catch the second half of the Giants/Peckers – I mean Packers – game. I made everyone go home instead of coming in to watch with me – I wasn’t ready to forgive their traitorous actions earlier.

I was so rooting for the Giants. I know, I know, it’s a Manning. That’s what’ll make it sweeter. I started watching the game on the board with the girls, but I wasn’t concentrating on the board at all, so I poured all my attention into the game. When Favre threw that last pick? I did a little happy dance around the room. This was going to be a hell of a Superbowl!

I jumped back on the board, and was all excited to talk to the Giants fans about the game. Sam was on, and relayed Kidd’s apologies to me. He said he’d never have gone through with it if he had known about the baby but it was too late to call it off. He was worried about getting another hormonal pregnant woman up in his face. I thought that was cute.

Honestly, his prank wasn’t all that bad. I was able to come up with a plausible reason why David was called flash-bang, and Dad and John seemed mollified. Besides, they were still reeling from the pregnancy news. I called my Mom from the tent, so I could tell all of them at the same time and BOY were they surprised. I mean, know they knew we were doing ‘it’, but I think they were happy pretending we weren’t – especially my Dad.

He got tears in his eyes, and gave me a big hug. My brother asked if I was happy about this or if he had to go break David’s neck. I told him I was quite happy, thank you very much, and leave David the hell alone. Mom asked when we were getting married. I pretended there was static and hung up on her.

Anyway, we were all congratulating the Giants on their win, and Sam said that Jon was interested in a bet. I thought about it. Last time I bet on a game (the last two times, actually) I won, and got some really good rewards. I didn’t want to enter into anything blind, though, so I asked what the terms were.

We bandied about the idea of naming our children for the winners (my son would be Jon, his daughter Hathor), but Sam wasn’t willing to do that to her kid. I can’t say as I blame her. Sometimes I wish I had a regular name. Then, when David hisses my name at just the right time, well, then it isn’t too bad. But I digress. That particular bet was out of the question.

Then, Jon said he’d put up his Chevelle against my Road Runner. I just about dropped off the couch. I was in love with that car, but I told him no way. Not that I didn’t have confidence in my Beloved Patriots, but that bet was way too steep. Not only was my Dad driving the car, but it was a gift from David. I couldn’t do that. Two bets ixnayed. He called me a chicken and I told him to kiss my ass. Then it got interesting.

Jon suggested the loser be the winner’s indentured servant during our stay in Chicago. I thought about that one. The first thing that came to mind was Jon in a little slave costume and I giggled out loud. Then I thought he’d probably thought the same thing, just to torture David, so I wanted to make sure that “no costumes” was part of the ground rules. I agreed.

Then Jon had to go and ruin it with his “stipulations”. He said...

1. I have to allow him to handle any business relating to the band and the concerts, and any other business relating to his other holdings.

2. No bowing and scraping, no costumes, and no David demands, just me.

3. I can't make him make any permanent changes that would affect the band or any of his holdings. (He said like trying to make him sell the Soul).

4. I can't affect his plans for the 29th. (thier wedding)

5. No interfering with interviews.

6. No sexual demands (that one's Sam’s)

Well, I was furious. Jesus, I just assumed it was going to be stuff like being his gopher and personal lackey if his Giants win. Where does this shit come from?

I wouldn't dream of interfering with his business or his personal holdings or the band or any of that -- not my style. Jesus, that's his job. This bet is personal. They don't cross. Shit, this stuff frankly never occurred to me. I won't ask him to buy me things or fuck with his businesses or screw with things that would be public. Jesus, what kind of woman does he think I am? He was taking all the fun out of this. I don't know if I wanna play anymore.

When Sam told him that, he backpedaled so fast, I felt the breeze. He said that his first thought as a business man is to protect what’s his. Shit, we weren’t conducting business, it was a friendly wager.

In the end, we decided that his stuff stays his, mine stays mine.

I won't fuck with his work, but I want to choose his stage clothes. Some of the stuff he wears to death. He’s GOT to have better stuff in his wardrobe. Sam said that she was going to do that, but I could help.

Nobody but the two of us can make the other do anything, and only harmless stuff we wouldn't be ashamed for our other halves to do. Things like doing something goofy at whatever bar/museum/touristy thing we go to; harmless things like fetching drinks, snacks, extra blankets, whatever when we're hanging out. Stupid stuff that's just annoying enough to make us grumble.

He was OK with that.

The bet was on.

Bring on the Super Bowl.