The tiger wife cometh

Gah. Wendi. Did you really have to do that? Jump up and smack dab the chappie who shoved the foam pie into your beloved, confused, fragile looking hubby’s face? You could have continued through the inquiry sitting pretty in your pink jacket, looking all delicate and lady like and stared open mouthed as the police led off said pie thrower, with shock and horror writ large on your face and such like.
But no. You just had to jump him there and land him a hook that toppled you, him and that unfortunate lady who happened to be placed between the two of you. And, I did not miss that you grabbed onto his collar with a grasp straight out of Ringu to ensure he couldn’t get away.
100 on 100 for lightning fast reflexes.
Who on earth would have suspected this nice, frowning, delicate looking creature was capable of a complete Lucy Liu Charlie’s Angels kind of instant reaction that even earned her compliments from folks around, and were put on record.
And to add insult to injury, you have a handspan waist to die for. Let me go jump into said spoonful of water in shame and misery.
Did you really have to do this and raise the damn bar of The Good Wife so many notches higher. Not only is she brainy, stick thin and bleddy chic, she also whacks the stuffing out of anyone who dares assault her man.
I have since told the spouse that he is not to set Wendi Deng as any standard of wifely devotion. For one, I am not as lithe on my feet. I could swing a mean left hook if I tried, and for practice some brave soul should try waking me from an afternoon nap on a weekend, but springing up and grabbing collar and bitch slapping a man down, that might be a bit beyond me. For starters, I expect my spouse to do the slapping back required himself. What? He’s the macho man, I’m the delicate ( ah, well, the tiling in my home might disagree, but I speak metaphorically) damsel in distress. I’m not supposed to go around slapping people, he’s in charge of that department. Ah well, I don’t cook at all. And I am a miserable keeper of the home, the dust all looks the same after a week anyway. And, yes, I don’t really rock pink.
But I really, really hope to God I never ever have to defend him in a situation where he really deserved no defending. I would bitchslap him first.

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