POV: Your insanely high maintenance (and generally insane) femme gf has come to watch you play football, even though it’s raining, and she doesn’t understand sports at all

I’m lathered and lavish,
lips, soft as a cloud,
I’m trying to establish that your girl is around,
in case any other bitch has her eyes on my baby,
my nails are kinda short but I’m known to get crazy.

Just for you.
I wore my red dress,
just for you,
high heels on the hallowed ground too,
slipping and sliding on the mud and grass,
I scream and cheer for every pass,
hoping that the time will pass quicker.

I’m ready to go,
in the pejorative sense,
this game makes no sense,
but I’m senselessly stomping through the mess of the field,
unyielding in my pursuit of the cutest girl in this confusing cacophony.

I’m bored but I adore you,
counting down the seconds until it’s over,
overwhelmed with how it finally feels to kiss you in the pouring rain.
Our ankles are awash with mud,
and everybody’s watching us,
some jealous,
some disgusted,
but I am,
as ever,
elated.