I woke up this morning to news reports that most of my fantasy football players have ailments.  A bum hamstring here, a bad shoulder there, and even a toe.  Not described as a toe injury, just a toe.  I'd like to think that he has 10 of them, but who knows.  At the rate I'm going, this team of mine is going to need that pool the old people found in Cocoon that made them young again. 

The competition is heating up and I'm happy to say that we are still conversing here at Chateau Cookie.  Apparently things are not going so well at my sister's house.  I looked at her lineup to find she had drafted a tight end today that only yielded her one measly point.  Thinking I was being funny, I sent her a little online smack talk. 

My phone rang just moments later.  Apparently she had gone on a drafting spree and had only asked for her husband's advice on one player--the crappy one.  This was after he told her to pick somebody up last week and then beat her to it.  The thing is, everyone knows he is out to win.  She is threatening divorce.  Her husband, because karma is a bitch, is going to get his ass handed to him this very minute by Cath.  Woohoo!! 

My husband, on the other hand, is getting a little cagey.  Until now we have been "helping" each other.  We were having a discussion about wide receivers tonight and suddenly he told me that he wasn't going to tell me who he was picking up.  I know we are going to play each other in two weeks but what the hell is up with that?  Sore losers, these men....