First off, I want to acknowledge the efforts of the WC yesterday in finalizing lengthy negotiations with the Queen (errr.... team) over at All Mine to conclude our wager for tonight's game between Tebow's Disciples and Brady's Bandits. It was difficult, and I see from her posting summarizing the bet that Suzanne tossed in a few wrinkles near the end that those of us at UCTMW had to swallow a little harder than normal to accept.
(In particular, I thought my own ass was out of this wager.... but I can handle it in the spirit of sportsmanship).
I won't even try to summarize the terms, which are particularly complex and seem to exempt Suzanne alone from the lofty 13 1/2 point spread. Very crafty! Check them out here: All Mine - wager terms.
I just hope that in the spirit of religious liberty, the NFL has waived the "12 Men in the Huddle" rule for tonight's game, because the Broncos are going to need their 12th Man, or, in the alternative, Tim "The 2nd Coming" Tebow will need a full complement of apostles.
Now that WC has polished his negotiating skills with Suzanne, he's more than ready to take on the smoldering peace talks with the Taliban to end the War on Afghanistan. Or maybe that dicey bit about Iran's nuclear arms program? I'll be passing your name onto Hillary, WC.
Out here in our little hideaway, Mistress and Slave had a nearly perfect day: Morning Sex, Skiing in brilliant sunshine, an apres ski nap, topped off with a little more sex, reading books, and then off to dinner at Mistress's favorite Pizza joint in the World. Mistress's preferred delicacy there is the Spelt Pizza crust, which she ordered with goat cheese and mushrooms. (Mitt Romney, no doubt, would have ordered it with Chevre).
But there was a slight blemish in our day: On one of our many chair rides we joined a rugged Ski Patrol dude. After he gave us some in depth analysis on the threat of avalanche on a particular pitch, I asked about the whereabouts of certain famous mountain climber who winters here on the ski patrol. He's a guy Mistress has on the top of her "bucket list" (or should that be "cock list").
His first name is Dave, and he's climbed Everest more than any other American. That and plenty of the other highest peaks too. Mistress has a long smoldering fantasy about meeting him, and then.... well who knows.
"My wife has always wanted to meet Dave ....., she's a big fan. Is he on the Mountain this weekend?"
Mistress gave me a nudge and a dirty look.
"He should be on tomorrow.... just stop by the ski partrol hut and see if he's around...."
The Ski Patrol guy and Mistress finished the ride talking about Dave's exploits and her own past experiences in climbing.
Afterwords Mistress was unhappy, to say the least, with her "only trying to be helpful" Slave.
"That was embarrassing, Slave.... you deserve a punishment for that...."
"I just told him you were a fan, not that you want to perfom a full body inspection while he's tied helplessly to your bed with an assortment of climbing gear."
That drew a very nasty look from Mistress.
So, even before the outcome of tonight's game, I may have a bruised ass to show for my attempted good deed.
But there is a little post script to this sad tale of Slave's impending punishment.
Lat night, after we had stuffed ourselves with spelt pizza and Utica greens, we were heading home in the dark, the brilliant fog of the milky way overhead, the 2/3's moon yet to rise.
Mistress was stretched back in her seat, a little tipsy from the wine that helped wash down that pizza, and tired from a day on the slopes. But not too tired, apparently....
"Dave, do we have the Hitachi back at the house."
"Uhhhh..... yes Mistress.... it's there in our drawer..... but did you just call me 'Dave'?
"Oooops...... I guess I meant to say, Slave......"
"Sounds like you still have your climber hero on your mind, Mistress....."
Regardless, once we were settled into bed, Slave deployed "Mr. H." to make sure Mistress had a little moaning and groaning night cap to top off a lovely day out here on the Lam.
And whether in the deep recesses of that dirty little mind it was her trusty Slave or that macho climber wielding her favorite power tool, who was I to judge.