Potatohouse finds himself in a room that, while comfortable and secure, is just not as brightly lit as he had always imagined it would be. He expected more people. More activity. More noise.

That is not to say that the room is quiet. A moan and forceful squeeze to his hand brings his attention back downward and he smiles at the tense, but indescribable beauty of his wife's face. Her head is pressed deeply into the pillow and her forehead glistens. He firms his grip, and with his other hand, brushes back a few strands of her light brown hair that had become damply matted by her temples. He leans in closer and whispers.

"You're amazing. I love you."

She stares up at him but another moan takes her breath away and forces her eyes to close. Her jaw flexed, she shakes her head and replies through gritted teeth.

"Shut the fuck up. I don't care."

Potatohouse leans up and swallows roughly. He instinctively pulls his hand back from hers but she doubles down on her grip, sinking her nails into his flesh and holding him in place. He winces and swallows again, his brain sputters as he watches her writhe beneath him.

A staticky din sounds out from the across the room and his eyes flick upward in that direction. A shiver of excitement slices through his gut and he grins before quickly moving to hide the expression from detection. Connaughton's three has tied the game at 65. This is unreal! Are they really going to win this game? Nova was up twenty at the half!

"Are you seriously watching the fucking game right now? RIGHT NOW? Seriously??"

Her words are soaked in pained disbelief and he quickly redirects his attention back her way. He recoils at the scathing disgust in her eyes and he shakes his head rapidly back and forth.

"No! No, I-! It's just on. I'm not like-. I just looked up. I'm not watch-."

Another loud moan cuts him off, bringing his stammering to a merciful end. He lets his gaze run down over her body and past her bowed legs. He flicks his eyes nervously below her waist and he stiffens as his fingertips tingle. Turning his face away from his wife, he licks his lips and speaks in a low, anxious tone.

"How we doing down there?"

The woman doesn't respond at first, her head down and her dark ponytail quivering gently. Retracting her fingers from between his wife's thighs, she leans up and smiles.

"Oh, she's almost there."

She pauses and raises and eyebrow as she nods confidently.

"In fact, it's time. Grab a leg."

He nods in response but the words do not initially penetrate whatsoever. As the spider sense of something being terribly off begins to amplify, he smiles nervously.

"I'm sorry. What now? Grab a what?"

The woman has already risen from her crouch. She runs her hand smoothly up his wife's calf and settles her grip just above her ass. Nodding nonchalantly, she repeats the instruction.

"Come down here and grab her other leg."

She indicates to her own positioning.

"Like this."

Potatohouse's muscles lock him into place as fear overtakes his system. He manages to peel his frozen stare from the woman and he glances quickly around the room. The confusing lack of other people again comes to the forefront of his thoughts. Shouldn't there be-? Is he really supposed to-??

He is snapped from his daze as the woman's voice returns. This time with a heightened firmness.

"Now. It's time."

The next fifteen minutes are a blur. Explicitly vivid images are seared into Potatohouse's brain that cannot be erased and are detailed only in his therapy journals. There is yelling, crying, smiling, and cursing. Connaughton hits his seventh triple, essentially sealing the game for the Irish. The screams hit a crescendo and eight pounds of screaming purple drops into Potatohouse's hands changing his life forever.

On this day, 7 years ago.

the brewfest this weekend. Unfortunately, the NHL scheduled the Stadium Series game this Saturday.

But I agree with our Kennett friend. 8pm start?? Pshhh. You could pregame with us and then still pregame for three more hours at the Linc!

for at least 2.5 hours and still tailgate a hockey game for 3. Utterly disappointing.

This is going to take some time to digest. But I hope the birthday party is fun!