Trophy Wife

My troubles began when they beat those damn Montreal Canadiens. Wally was the fourth player on his team to lift it over his head. Then he kissed it, again and again. On North American television nonetheless. I flushed red. Sure I was happy to see him winning the Stanley Cup. But those lips were mine. Are mine. Those lips are mine. How could he forget so quick y'know? Which, that's why I'm so nervous about today and all. Each player on the team gets it for one day, to do whatever he wants with it. And today is Wally's turn. And I'm worried. I'm worried he will take things too far when no one else is around. I know how men are, especially professional athletes, the way they get caught up in the moment with shiny things. How do you think him and I happened in the first place? It was by no accident that a Hooters waitress from Detroit wearing a sequined dress - that still turns heads mind you - bumped into an Alternate Captain on the - at the time - fourth best team in the National Hockey League outside of a nightclub in Colombus Ohio during a promotional event for a Sporting Goods Chain. It's been seven years since Wally and I met that one particularly humid July evening seven years ago, and I get it now more than ever. I'm not naive. I always knew there would be competition. As soon as I got pregnant with our first, I knew then it would really start kicking in, with him on the road and all, and me not looking my slimmest (it never did seem to bother him though except for the very last month). But I never thought it would be the Cup. Groupies, I know how to do things to Wally that groupies don't have the imaginations to know. Actresses, models, they don't have what I have neither. They're too pretty, they can't chop wood, put on the pads, skate with the boys when he can't. Yeah, that's right, another thing is, I've mothered his three boys. No woman can compare to what I've given him, give him. No, it's not about another woman at all. It's about the way he looks at it, at me, now that he's won.