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Krrobi

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The British Are Coming!

Kim Sisto Robinson

 I think many of the Skirt-Girls already know my husband comes from Great Britain. 

This means the “Soccer Community” in Duluth, Minnesota has exploded with the English techniques and fundamental s of that British game, which is aptly called Futbal.  David, my husband, is obsessed with that little black and white ball.  OBSESSED. CRAZY.  IN LOVE. I feel compelled to buy lingerie with soccer balls etched all over the silk and lace to receive the attention I so rightly deserve.  

Yes, there has been a British Invasion in DuluthMinnesota.  If one is involved in soccer, they are also likely to meet and socialize with the other coaches, who happen to be, you guessed it, British, baby, and yeah, these Brits live in our little-hick town of Duluth! When the British coaches come together and talk about the game (Yep, that’s all they talk about) the wives come together, as well. And since we are all married to British men, we too, have plenty in common, such as—husbands  mostly, who gape insensately at the English soccer channel, the soccer World Cup ,and of course, all of these dudes drink several pints of lager (English beer) until the cows (sheep) come home. 

I have come to the realization that no matter the country, sports will prevail, and our men are going to damn well be part of it, consume it, and sometimes, find that particular activity more significant than us. Honestly if David’s home team is playing, I could walk in the living room with crotch less panties, fish net stockings, and bitch-red heels, and Dave would exclaim, “Right after Liverpool scores, Love.” 

You’ve got to be kidding me?  Forget it, babe.  And Liverpool can kiss my bootie.  And as long as we’re on that subject, the Beatles can, too!

We have a rule in our house, which is; whoever gets home first gets the remote control.  So, after my bus duty at my school, I am sprinting like a bat out of hell trying to get home to get my girl Oprah on, because if I don’t, soccer will blaring from the television at 4:00 PM  like some kind of  neighborhood event.  You know, when my husband and I were dating, I pretended to like soccer (but I only really liked David Beckham), I watched rugby, and I even attended a wrestling match.  Let me tell ya right now, I don’t just dislike wrestling, I haaaate it. In fact, I wish it were banned from the face of the earth.

I’ve changed.  I don’t pretend anymore.  “You used to love watching soccer,” David said.  “No, dear, I only wanted to get you into bed.”  It was the accent, you see.  Some girls are attracted to tight butts, deep green eyes, exceptional faces, but for me, it was the sexy as hell, Paul McCartney, Liverpudlian nuance.   He had me on “Hello” if you want the total truth. .

But I’m getting off track here.  What I’m trying to say is the Brits are taking over the soccer world here, and it’s pretty cool.  I love sitting around with all of the “soccer crew” knowing that my husband is getting his Brit Fix, that his roots are being fulfilled in some way.  And I like the wives, as well, which is not always the case with this sort of thing.  Marnie is my favorite. She actually lived in a flat in London as a nanny for a while in the 80s (she was Telly Savalas’s nanny until he died (I’m not shitting you). In any case, this is how she met her husband, Paul, thus, they both ended up in Duluth, where I get the pleasure of knowing and loving this dear woman, and Paul coaches soccer with David, so rather than watch the games, we gossip and sip Starbucks coffee.

Have I told you how much I looooove British men?   And speaking on that same topic, I’ve noticed that Dave is losing some of his Lush-Liverpool-language.  I told him the other day, “You need to go home to visit, Hon, cause I neeeed some of that sexy McCartney!”

In August of 2009, I will be traveling with the Saint Scholasitca Soccer team to London.  Don’t laugh, but I am going as one of the chaperones.  What they don’t know yet is that the chaperone will need a chaperone!    I’ve been to London several times and have appropriately named her “The Center of the Universe.”  London has a pulse, which throbs and vibrates directly down to one’s pores. 

And my husband’s Britishess has melted into the core of me, besides.

By the way, I found my lingerie!  And even though my husband sometimes appears to be having passionate foreplay with the Liverpool soccer team, I think he may reconsider after he gets a load of my outfit.  Oh, the ball is optional.   What do you think Skirt girls?!!!