“Roger Federer is destroying my love life!”

I am sure many of your blog readers and tennis fans may not recognize me as the wife of Andy Roddick, but may know me as the 2009 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Covergirl.  It’s weird, in spite of the exposure,  I regularly attend tennis tournaments under the cloak of relative anonymity and not being recognized is puzzling to me.  Why all the cameras and attention are obsessively focused on Mirka makes almost no sense.  Afterall how many Sports Illustrated covers has she graced? It’s okay.  Really.  No jealousy here.  I mean I dress modestly so I won’t need to worry about linespeople, ball boys, and horny old Australian broadcasters starring at my chest throughout the entirety of Andy’s match.  One of these days I may spice it up.  Perhaps at the US Open, who knows?

Anyway, Andy and I were married this past April after dating for a year.  The prenup was favorable, so I figured, “what the heck…why not go for it?”  Plus the guy’s not too shabby in the bedroom.  The first few months of being newlyweds was AWESOME.  I was showered with flowers, jewelry, exotic travel and a love life that exceeded all expectations.  Then suddenly in early July my whole world changed.

After Andy’s heartbreaking loss to Federer in the Wimbledon final his mood darkened.  He just wanted to be alone.  He barely noticed me.  I tried swimwear, lingerie, even going topless.  Nothing worked.  Within a week he became more obsessed than ever with Roger and the quest to defeat him.  He upped his training to the point where he had no energy at the end of the day for me.

Then on July 24 a sudden renewed interest in me emerged.  Andy was buoyed by news of the Federer twins birth.  He sent a private text message to Roger congratulating him on the twins and even publicly congratulated him on his Twitter account.  But privately he wanted to up the ante.  He told me, “if Roger and Mirka can have twins, then we can do better.  Brooklyn you better get ready because tonight we are making triplets!”

Suddenly, Andy the lover, transformed into Andy the beast.  The love making became more physical than ever.  I had never seen Andy work so hard.  And good Lord, the sweat.  I mean it was literally pouring off of him.  The salt was stinging my eyes and the bedding was completely soaked.  I have never witnessed anything like it.  Sheets of perspiration began cascading off of the bed and forming salt-water pools capable of sustaining ocean life on the bedroom floor.  And it would only get worse.  Andy replaced our  evening sessions once filled with wine and chocolates with electrolyte beverages and energy bars.  Each night.  Every night.  All____Night____Long!!!!

He remains obsessed with the idea of defeating Roger on court and off the court.  Each morning he asks me to take a pregnancy test.  He wants triplets and is getting more and more demanding as his obsession grows.  The positions are becoming increasingly insane.  Not to mention the degree of difficulty is amplified because it’s so bleepin’ slippery.  I am pretty damned sure Mirka never had to endure anything like this…nor would she be capable of a position that Andy calls “The Gimblestob” after the guy who supposedly created it.  I hate to break the news to Andy, but Justin has never actually implemented “The Gimblestob” in real life…I guarantee it.  Ouch!

The other day I told Andy “Absolutely NO!”  to the idea of videotaping taping the “Quest for Triplets” so he could study the tapes and find areas to improve.  I know the tapes would leak out via the internet and the unflattering semi-acrobatic moves required to perform “The Gimblestob” would torpedo my modeling career and surely land me with an open invitation to join Cirque du Soleil or worse, yet, Dancing with the Stars.

Then yesterday Andy asked if Larry Stefanki could watch us tonight and take some notes in lieu of videotaped instruction?  WHAT!!?? My husband has officially lost it in a major league kind of way!  I am glad the prenup is favorable to me, because I honestly do not know how much more I can take.  I miss Andy the gentleman. This bizarre quest to top Roger at something has sucked all the romance out of our relationship.  This is messed up!!

Roger Federer has brought all this upon me.  Each night I now pray to God for Roger to be stricken with severe stomach cramps if Andy gets to face him at the US Open.  Even with that the Swiss bastard would still find a way to win, wouldn’t he?

Doesn’t Andy realize I  have no interest in birthing triplets at this point in my life?    I am in agony.  My life is spinning out of control.  I am scared.  Who would have thought 4 months ago that I would have to replace my lovely silk bedding with custom-made bedsheets comprised of genuine Sham-Wow material?  And what will Andy say and do when he reads this editorial and realizes he never thought to ask me to stop taking the pill?

(This SATIRE was created for the enjoyment of our blog readers and customers.  We hope you read it in the spirit of fun in which it was created.  Obviously the contents are 100% fiction.)