This post comes to you live from my den of procrastination, aka my entire life. I’m still high fiving myself after executing a sublime swerve on a fatty subway breakfast this morning after ducking in for a bottle of water and allowing the sweet sweet smell of all the meatball subs set up camp right inside my nostrils.
It was a near miss, to say the least.
It’s moments like this that remind me that I really need to get my head out of my arse and stop telling people I’ve ‘changed my relationship with food’. I clearly have not.
This post has been a long time coming, but I’ve realised enough is enough. Women of the world need to share the mutual despair of that feeling you get when your sweet, loving, (in my case quite shy) boyfriend turns into what appears to be a raging maniac on bail for GBH. The victim to such: the Playstation controllers. Poor bastards. Thrown across the garden, slammed on floors, cursed at the world over.
If I’m honest, I never thought my boyfriend playing Fifa would bother me. I’m not a football hater, far from it. I support Liverpool *bows head in shame and sheds a tear for what could have been* – I was even hella good at Pro Evo, but I’ve now learned that those two words are utter blasphemy, because somewhere along the line Pro Evo got shit and Fifa got good. Well I must’ve had my head firmly wedged in a jar of peanut butter because nobody told me.
Anyway, here’s a bunch of shit my boyfriend does when playing Fifa.
- “I’m going to play Fifa for a while”. Translate: I’m about to become as aggressive as Grant Mitchell off Eastenders and make you wonder why we’re together.
- *Plays Bayern Munich against Bayern Munich*. Wtf?
- “FUCKS SAKE.” U ok hun?
- *throws Playstation controller*. “I should never have bought this Playstation. You read my mind.
- “WHAT A WASTE OF FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS.” Cost per hour you’ve played it is about 1p so not really.
- *punches couch* Mind my upholstery god dammit.
- “GET INNNNNN.”
- “FUCK YEAH IM FOUR NIL UP”. Good for you huni.
- “Great tackle”. Modesty is key, I see.
- “Arrrgh the other player quit the game because I’m winning.” WHO DOES THAT. You. You do that.
- FUCKS SAKE I’M FOUR NIL DOWN IM QUITTING. See.
- Me: “I am dying/bleeding/am in labour/will have sex with you/am making you dinner/am crying”. Response: “Huh? I can’t pause I don’t have the ball.” Ok kl I’ll just die then.
- “I’ve just got Wimbledon FC into the Champions League”. Expect a call from the FA any day now baby.
- “ERRRR THAT’S A FOUL!” Was it though?
- “FUCKING REF.” Yep defo his fault.
- “Ooh yay free kick.”
- “FUCKING LAG.” Wtf is lag?
- “Fucks sake stupid Playstation.” Oooooor you’re just shit.
- “World Class is too hard. I’m going down a level but don’t tell my friends.” I will definitely tell all your friends.
- “Woooooo I’m so good at Fifa.”
- “Oh WHAT.”
- “NOT THERE.” I’ve learned that this is shouted when the console goes on a mad one and apparently doesn’t read your mind and switch you to the player you wanted.
- Me: “Because I’m so totally awesome I spent $80 on a second controller so you can play when Tom comes over.” *Has Tom over to take it in turns to stare at each other playing online on ONE controller.” All the clothes I coulda had with that $80. Sigh.
Gals, the struggle is real. I feel ya.