Ok, fine. The peer pressure has finally gotten to me, so I'm going to join the masses. Sanjaya. There, I said it. Now his name has appeared on every webpage ever created. Are you happy, America? I would've held out longer, but the threat of 30 million complaint emails scared me too much. Yes, I was afraid, and I'm man enough to admit it.
After work last week, my lovely wife and I stopped by our friends Candice and Scott's place for a few minutes to say hi. I always like going over there, not just because they're cool people, but because that means it's game time. Two times ago, I played Tecmo Bowl on old-school Nintendo against Scott and almost managed to hold my own against his superior skills. Before that, a group of us played the board game "Time's Up," which always equals a good time in my book.
Most importantly though, they have a foosball table. I'm not so good at the foosball, but I rather enjoy playing it. I just try to avoid scoring on myself and have a good time. Scott gets all fancy with his passes and stuff, and sometimes that leads me to try to copy him instead of sticking to my normal gameplan (i.e. hit it hard). My forte is accidentally moving my goalie out of the way of the ball at the very last second to let my opponent score. My wife is unusually good at the game, by the way, and once earned the respect of our old neighbors by beating up on them. Me though? Not so much.
I had a brilliant idea of what Scott should do with this foosball table, but so far he hasn't taken me up on it. I want him to tape or glue pictures of his friends' faces onto the players. How awesome would that be? Right now, I'm busy yelling, "Come on, dude, block that!" to the nameless, faceless players. With the Klein Plan in effect though, I could be yelling at Keith or Stefanie instead. I even told him that I'll be one of the back defensemen, letting others take the glory positions up front who make most of the goals. I don't need all the popularity and fanfare that comes with scoring goals, but I'll be there to get in the way of some pesky striker and make one of those key plays that don't show up in the boxscore the next day. That's right, I'm a team player.
Speaking of being a team player, I'm reminded of a time in which I did something that epitomized "taking one for the team." It was during our year in Sacramento, and I want to share it with you, since I feel like we're friends. Are we? Are we friends? Oh good. I'd hate to just put that out there and then find that it's only one-sided. What a relief. Moving on! In Sac-town, one of my wife's friends had a strange Victoria's Secret coupon. It said that if six people come in together with this coupon, each one would get a free pair of panties. Five people? No panties. It had to be six. We're all at the mall, and one of the friends couldn't make it, so they all turned toward me and the other man there. He gave a look that said, "Aw hell no." So I said, "Sure. I'll be your sixth," exhibiting a level of selflessness that hadn't been seen since Chandler pissed on Monica after the jellyfish stung her.
The six of us strode into Victoria's Secret and a young lady started helping us. She brought us over to the section that had the specified underwear and asked what sizes everyone wanted. After the five women went, she looked over at me quite confused. "A small please," I said, deadpan and in a slightly deeper voice than normal. She started to laugh a little, but then saw that I wasn't joining her and stopped. "Um, are these really for you?" she asked. "Why? Do you think I'm too fat for a small?" I asked. She had no idea how to answer that, which was evident by one of the longest blank stares I've ever had directed toward me (and trust me, that's really saying something). After what seemed like a whole minute elapsed, she nervously started looking through the stack for a small. This whole time, the other man of the group was waiting outside, too uncomfortable to even step foot in the store. Not me. The ladies needed an extra body for their coupon to be functional, and I stepped up. I took one for the team, and it wasn't even my team. That's the type of dedication you get with Peter Klein on your side.
Most importantly though, they have a foosball table. I'm not so good at the foosball, but I rather enjoy playing it. I just try to avoid scoring on myself and have a good time. Scott gets all fancy with his passes and stuff, and sometimes that leads me to try to copy him instead of sticking to my normal gameplan (i.e. hit it hard). My forte is accidentally moving my goalie out of the way of the ball at the very last second to let my opponent score. My wife is unusually good at the game, by the way, and once earned the respect of our old neighbors by beating up on them. Me though? Not so much.
I had a brilliant idea of what Scott should do with this foosball table, but so far he hasn't taken me up on it. I want him to tape or glue pictures of his friends' faces onto the players. How awesome would that be? Right now, I'm busy yelling, "Come on, dude, block that!" to the nameless, faceless players. With the Klein Plan in effect though, I could be yelling at Keith or Stefanie instead. I even told him that I'll be one of the back defensemen, letting others take the glory positions up front who make most of the goals. I don't need all the popularity and fanfare that comes with scoring goals, but I'll be there to get in the way of some pesky striker and make one of those key plays that don't show up in the boxscore the next day. That's right, I'm a team player.
Speaking of being a team player, I'm reminded of a time in which I did something that epitomized "taking one for the team." It was during our year in Sacramento, and I want to share it with you, since I feel like we're friends. Are we? Are we friends? Oh good. I'd hate to just put that out there and then find that it's only one-sided. What a relief. Moving on! In Sac-town, one of my wife's friends had a strange Victoria's Secret coupon. It said that if six people come in together with this coupon, each one would get a free pair of panties. Five people? No panties. It had to be six. We're all at the mall, and one of the friends couldn't make it, so they all turned toward me and the other man there. He gave a look that said, "Aw hell no." So I said, "Sure. I'll be your sixth," exhibiting a level of selflessness that hadn't been seen since Chandler pissed on Monica after the jellyfish stung her.
The six of us strode into Victoria's Secret and a young lady started helping us. She brought us over to the section that had the specified underwear and asked what sizes everyone wanted. After the five women went, she looked over at me quite confused. "A small please," I said, deadpan and in a slightly deeper voice than normal. She started to laugh a little, but then saw that I wasn't joining her and stopped. "Um, are these really for you?" she asked. "Why? Do you think I'm too fat for a small?" I asked. She had no idea how to answer that, which was evident by one of the longest blank stares I've ever had directed toward me (and trust me, that's really saying something). After what seemed like a whole minute elapsed, she nervously started looking through the stack for a small. This whole time, the other man of the group was waiting outside, too uncomfortable to even step foot in the store. Not me. The ladies needed an extra body for their coupon to be functional, and I stepped up. I took one for the team, and it wasn't even my team. That's the type of dedication you get with Peter Klein on your side.
Man, did I just sound like an auto insurance company or what? In any case, have a great day today, gentle readers. I'd gladly step up and get women's underwear for each of you too, because that's how much I care. Please remember to post your stabs at yesterday's Guess the Fakey and email ptklein@gmail.com with bumper stickers, random thoughts, questions you'd like to see me answer, or things you hate - those always make me smile.
p.s. Since today's date is 4/11, I suggest we all call it "Information Day." Deal?
2 comments:
Just curious...did you get a matching bra to go with your panties?
I know that you learned at an early age that there is no I in team. I have it on video somewhere if proof is needed.
Post a Comment