The Big Guy always looks super hot on Sunday's.  Don't get me wrong, I think he is super fucking hot every day, but there is just something about Sunday.

His bed head.  The white Hanes t-shirt he puts on.  His scruffy beard.

How hot is a guy when he is sporty a scruffy, weekend beard?  Think David Beckham, Tim McGraw (watch his Real Good Man video for proof), Ryan Gosling, and The Big Guy.  Hell yeah I am including The Big Guy.  He's that fucking hot.

I love Sunday mornings.  No little league game to wake up early for.  No errands to run.  Football, football and more football.   Cuddling and morning quickies.  Sunday mornings are awesome.  Notice church isn't listed.  We don't go.  Don't judge me.  I don't want the comments about going or not going.  We don't.  End of story.  I enjoy laying in bed on Sunday, fooling around with The Big Guy, and then spending the rest of the day hanging out with the kids.  During football season, the only thing two things that occur on a Sunday in this house are fantasy football roster moves and turning on the Red Zone Channel.  I love it.  I play fantasy football.  I suck at fantasy football.  Like anything else that The Big Guy and I do together, fantasy football becomes a game of who can beat who, who can score more points, who can trash talk the best.  It is awesome.  We have so much fun together.  We are always laughing.  And I am saying it now, even before the draft has occurred (and I have yet to see my ridiculous team of suck assness) I, EndZone Empress (my team name), will beat The Big Guy when we face off during our fantasy football season.

Each and every one of you are allowed to be thinking that there is no way I can beat The Big Guy at fantasy football.  I am right there with you.  I have a better chance of Tim McGraw, David Beckham and Ryan Gosling all showing up at my house, at the same time.  I can hope and wish and dream for it to happen, but we all know damn well it never will.  Same goes my chances at beating The Big Guy.  

This Sunday morning I sat on the couch, laptop in lap, staring at the screen.  So far this weekend I have started three posts, wrote quite a bit and then deleted them, not liking how any were going.  I've had writer's block and as we all know, it sucks.  So, I did what I always do when I can't write.  I take to twitter.  I love my twitter peeps.  You guys never fail me.  I came across a tweet:

"Flirtation is good.  It makes everyone feel better, even if they will not admit it."

The tweet was by @david_kearse.  I don't know who the person is that tweeted it, other than the fact that he has Yoda as their avi and he saw a fight and two women get arrested at some Florida airport the other day.

I immediately thought of The Big Guy.  I am sure immediately think of your husband was the intended meaning of that tweet.  For me it was.  And Sunday mornings.  And our relationship.  We are always flirting.  I am always getting smacked on the ass.  We are always laughing, playfully  picking on one another.  When he is at work I sext him.  He sexts me back.  I hope you all know how awesome it is to flirt with your husband, act like teenagers and just fucking enjoy each other.  It's better than any little girl's fairy tale could ever be.

And then I read the tweet again.  And I realized why I think The Big Guy is super hot on Sunday's.  And I realized why I like Sunday's so damn much.

The flirting.

Yes we are always flirting.  Yes I always think The Big Guy is fucking hot.  But nothing can beat flirting with The Big Guy on Sunday, when the only shit to do is watch football or hanging out and relaxing.  I though about it for a minute.  I looked over at The Big Guy who was watching the Olympic basketball game.  His hair a mess, his Hanes shirt stained from the take-out we had last night.  He is my Prince.  My super fucking hot, scruffy bearded, Prince.

"You're really hot." I said to him, followed by a smack on the arm.

"Thanks babe, but you're hotter." he smiled.  I love his smile.  Trust me, you would too.

"You know, in a few weeks, we become mortal enemies." I said.

And the trash talking, fantasy football flirtation began between us.  And it will continue all day.  The sarcastic remarks.  The smacks on the ass.  The relaxing.  The random arm wrestles.  The flirty exchanges we give when the kids aren't looking.  And next Sunday will be a wash, rinse, repeat of today.

And will continue as long as The Big Guy can put up with me or "Easy Like a Sunday Morning" stops playing in my head.  Whichever comes first.

I predict a tie in the end....