Superbowl Sunday. When the grocery store is a ghost town, fried cheese laden food is the cuisine and many people all over won't be grateful for anything. A night where a coin toss can win you money. A night that comes with so much heraldry and pomp and circumstance you'd think we were celebrating our nation's birthday, the anniversary of our independence and freedom, or some other historical magnificence. But no, we are watching grown men throw around an oblong ball made of pig skin, chasing each other up and down a field. Don't get me wrong, I love a great football game. But, our only TV is in our basement living room and as I am a deplorable housewife the room is so unkempt there is only one place to sit. Being the otherwise amazing wife that I am, I surrender the one and only seat to my husband and find satisfaction with his periodic runs upstairs to tell me how the game is going. In the meantime, I'm spending Superbowl 48 nursing a baby who likes to kick me while breastfeeding and watching season 8 of 'how I met your mother' on Netflix. It's all good.
Supermarkets are not empty all day busy little reprieve
ReplyDelete