I knew from an early age that I didn’t want to marry a man that would wear a suit and sit behind a desk everyday. BORING! I wanted someone who is creative and adventurous; an artist. I dated all types of artists; painters, muscians- you name it. And then I met THE ONE.
He was tall, dark and handsome; running down the field after the ball with his longish hair flowing in the wind. He was supposed to be a fling after a break-up … now that name on the back of his jersey is my last name.
His face was on billboards all over Atlanta, they handed out bobble heads of him on a big game night, people chanted his name from the stands and he wore the captains band. Glamorous, right? WRONG! Everything we did was planned around practices and games. The outcome of games affected his mood. He wouldn’t have sex the night before a game because it would “take his legs” and after games he would stay awake until the wee hours of the morning watching footage from the game. What annoyed me most? He wouldn’t eat desert when I was eating it. UGH!
Don’t get me wrong- there were fun sides of being a WAG. We were often asked to go to exclusive events, given things for free and my man was at home for most of the day- no 9-5 schedules here.
He was at the end of his career so I wasn’t a WAG for long (thank God) but then this fling-turned-husband decided his calling was to be a coach and the real stress began. Stay tuned to hear more about that…