I don't get it. We NEVER, and I mean NEVER watch football. My husband doesn't care about it and neither do I. But the Super Bowl, that he must watch. I shouldn't complain. I could be a Monday night football widow, but I'm not. I really should not complain, but there is something uniquely nerve-wracking about the noise of a football game: animated commentators and the ugly crowd noises in the back ground.
And of course it falls to me to prepare some football game appropriate foods. Tonight we raided the freezer to get rid of all our meat and it's home made chicken nuggets (a vast pile and yes, I made them from scratch), a pound of farm fresh pork sausage cooked up (for those of us who can't do the breading on the nuggets), some leftover meatloaf and some leftover chicken somethingorother (crockpot chicken with tomato and onions...? What's it called?)
I think I need to go hide in my bedroom with a movie and some knitting. Or maybe a good book.
I could go clean up the kitchen, but where's the fun in that? I could go fold laundry. Ditto on the where's the fun in that part.
I could go take a nap.
I wanted to do some sewing, and I even located the perfect fabric at Hancock's, but it was ten dollars a yard, so I didn't buy it. Big shuddering sigh. Deep red rayon challis with off white floral print. Just what I wanted. Why does the pretty stuff always cost more than I have to spend? I told Wes I'd found the perfect fabric and didnt buy it (secretly hoping he'd send me back to the store) but he didn't. He just said "See, kids, grownups get disappointed sometimes too." The man has no clue about romance, does he?
Hmmmm, what to do? What to do?