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The macho festival, fueled by beer and testosterone, where men believe they are all MVP's and women should worship them as gods. I don't have any idea how many women are abused by men after this high point of American sport but I know I'm am not the only victim of their excess.My husband and son had organised for a group of friends to watch the game in our new family room but at the last minute my husband managed to get a ticket through a friend. He called his buddies and cancelled but allowed our son and his friends to stay. I had volunteered to work the day but even before the game started the boss sent all the women home and replaced them with some burly bouncer types as the group of men who had booked the restaurant were already way too rowdy for his liking.I got home and checked on the boys, well really young men, all 17 and 18 year olds. They had the room darkened and the sound up to better reproduce the atmosphere of the game. There were 2 guys at the back who I didn't known. Sometime around three in the morning, I awoke in a start and realized that I was stiff all over. Sleeping at a kitchen table is not conducive to a restful night. I poured a half inch of my Tullamore Dew, gulped it down, and dragged myself to the master bedroom. I dropped my clothes wherever they landed, fell on the bed, and collapsed into crying and feeling sorry for myself. I had lost my reasons for living and thought I might never get them back.The jarring of the radio woke me at 6:30 AM. I really didn't feel like going in to work today. I just couldn't work up the wherewithal to even care if I ever got up for work anymore. My life was over; kick the dirt over me because I'm dead. My body just hasn't realized the fact that my brain and my heart are dead. Still, I did have an important client coming in today.I finally dragged my body out of bed and shut that damn alarm off. They were playing 'TGIF', that damn Friday song. Well, they may thank God it's Friday, but I would give.
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