Mixed Marital Arts.

Eric is watching an MMA fight.

MMA. Mixed Martial Arts.

Ultimate Fighting.

Haha. Seriously?

Yeah, this is a part of my husband I didn’t know existed until a couple weeks ago when, as I was spending some of his hard-earned money on new clothes, he decided to spend some of that same hard-earned money on a clearance DVD of ultimate fighting. I couldn’t get my head wrapped around it, that my Eric was interested in—and apparently had a history of interest in—two men pounding the pulp out of each other.

I think the injection of estrogen into his household drove him to it.

It’s like he needs his younger brother around. You know, to play with, to box around.

A similar situation just went down at the Clinard household. They got a puppy in November. Said puppy was very naughty, chewed everything and had too much energy. My parents couldn’t keep up. So the solution was to get a new puppy a few weeks ago, so Belle (Puppy #1) could have a playmate and wear off some of that energy. So far, it seems to be working. Puppy #1and Puppy #2 take their pep out on each other and my parents only get the cute and cuddly leftovers.

We might have to come to some sort of similar solution here, though I don’t know what it would be—short of asking Todd and Katelin to move to Illinois.

You see, Eric has taken to doing MMA moves on me. It’s like he forgets I’m relatively teensy and fragile (not to mention entirely uninterested in all things ultimate fighting). The other day, he body slammed me onto the back of the couch. In slow motion. Still hurt, though. I think he’s coming in to give me a peck on the cheek or a nice hug… and next thing I know I’m in some sort of strange headlock.

He needs a playmate.

Or maybe a puppy?

‘Cause all I want is the cute and cuddly leftovers.