• Sexier part of the Olympics sparks debate between bachelor and his lover
Image: PIXABAY
Diary,
With the Olympics drawing to a close, I’m happy the endless supply of naked flesh and willing showmanship will be gone for at least another four years.
Don’t get me wrong. Like any other warm-blooded human, the sight of barely clad women running down a track or hitting a ball over a net gets my blood flowing. For the men, all those formed bodies cause a flood of near-murderous jealousy.
However, I truly don’t care for some of the events. For instance, dressage is a most inhumane sport that should be banned forever. No horse (or any other animal, for that matter) should be made to act like a drug addict on withdrawal.
And although there will never be a general uproar to ban swimming, I find it a most inhumane sport. Humans are not meant to swim, and the fact that one has to learn to float in water is a testament to it. Have you ever heard a nature documentary narrator say, “And since the young shark did not learn how to swim, he drowned right next to his mother?” Exactly! Because there’s a class of animals meant to do things under water.
Another reason I came to hate swimming more this Olympics season is the row it brought between me and my American fiancée Harper. I was skimming through the channels when I happened upon the women’s 4x100 metre medley. The Australians were chasing the record-breaking Americans.
Two things happened. One, I love cheering for the underdog. Two, my shameless libido noticed an Australian swimmer called Mollie O’Callaghan, whom I immediately became a fan of. This didn’t sit well with Harper.
“You’re cheering for the enemy?” she asked.
“What?” I gawked.
“I’d understand if there were Kenyans in the race, but to cheer against America? It’s your future wife’s country, for Pete’s sake!”
“I really don’t care for the sport.”
“Oh, you don’t? Is it because Mollie is pretty then?”
“Is she?” I pretended to squint at the screen. “Frankly, I hadn’t noticed.”
“Christ, Tom!” Harper shakes her head. “You just commented on her legs.”
“But… they all have nice legs. I think it’s a requirement or something.”
“It’s a marriage requirement to support your wife’s interests.”
And just like that, she stormed into the bedroom, leaving me to digest what just happened.
To be a good husband, I will not only have to stop being a regular guy, I have to change my preferences to suit another human.
If this isn’t a reason for me to weasel out of this whole marriage affair, I wonder what is.