No, it’s not a typo. I do mean “widower” when I talk about football, since I am, in this case, talking about my husband.
We are now officially in Football Season, and I am officially, Ready. One thing you may not know about me is that I am an insane football fan. It comes from my parents – they yell, scream and root like crazy people. I remember, growing up as a kid, my parents would take the TV guide and highlight which games they were going to watch, and who each would root for. My mom would make little sandwiches, provide caffeine-free diet sodas, and keep a rotating buffet all day long, so there was something to eat any time you needed and there was never a need to take a break. Any other task could be done during halftime.
I may have been the only 8 year old girl on the playground who knew the difference between a touchdown and a touchback.
When the phone rang last night at around 11pm, I knew who it was – my mom and dad, calling to congratulate me on the fantastic win my alma mater, Washington State University, had over the USC Trojans. I know – during football season – that I should only be calling my parents if there is some emergency. Otherwise, you simply wait until halftime or the end of the game to call. I mean really – it’s just common courtesy.
At this point, we’re 2 hours and 18 minutes away from the New Orleans Saints game, and I’ve already finished most of what I need to do today. I woke up early, took my shower, got the dishes going – I even have breakfast on standby for when the rest of my family wakes up.
Then, starting at kickoff, I will scream and yell like a crazy person, as the generations before me have done. I’ll ignore everyone until halftime, unless there are some questionable calls or exceptional highlights, and then you’re just going to have to wait until the commercials start.
So here’s to my husband – who won’t hear from me until the Saints game is over. I want you to know I’m making those croissants you like and the baby’s breakfast is ready. See you at 1pm.