I’m off to my first Sharks game of the season. This is about to be me:
|Luckily I look amazing in Kelly green spandex|
Nothing takes me back home as fast as the smell of a hockey rink, the snap of the cold and the sound of a blade cutting into the ice. The second I walk in the door I’m five years old again, and I’m eating old rink burgers (a truer delicacy has never been found) and fries with salt and vinegar, with gummy cobras for dessert, and then running around through the entire rink, under the bleachers and back to the zamboni playing tag with my friends.
I don’t think I went on a single date that wasn’t to a hockey game until I was 18, and let’s be honest, why would you want to go anywhere else? Plus they serve Canadian at the Shark Tank, and to be honest I’m not much of a beer girl, but I’ll take my Canada where I can get it, and I haven’t found anywhere else in California that serves it.
Plus he plays for the Sharks. Enough said.