Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Meet Me at the Best Western. Bring Wine Coolers.

Am I just too uptight? 

There's a slim chance I just can't fathom this level of tolerance and trust, this selfless and pragmatic attitude which flies in the face of my traditional yet hypocritical self-righteousness.

Or just maybe, I'm a light, misty aquamarine shade of envious. 

You see, Russian pop star Masha Lopatova, married for the past six years to fellow countryman and Utah Jazz forward Andrei Kirilenko, has allowed her husband one night per year with another woman of his choosing.

Wow, as Jan Brady might whine, "Masha, Masha, Masha!"  

In an interview with ESPN The Magazine, Lopatova stated that "it's the same way raising children—if I tell my child, 'No pizza, no pizza, no pizza,' what does he want more than anything? Pizza."

Okay, a couple of things here. First, her husband is a grown man—not some kid begging his mom to take him to Shakey's for a large double pepperoni and some Space Invaders afterwards. Sure, he's a dude and everyone knows that men are frequently weaker than Taylor Swift's voice, but he shouldn't be treated like a child by his own bride.

Secondly, mmm, pizza.

Ms. Lopatova purported to understand the temptations NBA players face while traveling the country seven months per year. She joked in the interview that "girls will be lining up outside his hotel door," and I tend to agree. Look at him:














Any red-blooded female roaming the earth back in the Eighties is probably still warm for his form after seeing what he did to Apollo Creed in Rocky IV:












I've heard rumors that a couple of years back, one lucky lady left his hotel in the morning with a nice memento which recently surfaced on eBay:

Although I've no idea who originally coined this phrase, it nonetheless enters into my consciousness with great regularity: 

Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

You know, that last glass of wine right before bed that leads to a nice little wakey wakey morning headachey, that extra half hour in the sun that transforms your shoulder blade skin from a smooth crimson to a bubbly purple?

Or this ultimate of slippery slopes that Andrei Kirilenko is navigating in his size twenty Air Jordans.

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