I have the same amount of enthusiasm invested in this game as I usually do, which is basically none. I'm not into football. Like, at all. Well, no--I take that back. I'm into football parties, but only for the snacks. Put me near a platter of nachos and I can get into anything.
The irony, of course, is that I'm from Texas, the football capitol of the world, where high school linebackers are local heros and people camp out for days for tickets to the big college games. Because I was on the drill team I attended every single football game--home and away--for the whole four years of high school. I did high kicks at half-time, shook my pom-pons in the bleachers and had absolutely no idea what all those sweaty guys in knee pads were doing in-between.
That's me in the white. Don't let my school spirit fool you; I was only in it for the sequins.
These days, there is nothing forcing me to sit through a football game aside from the very slight twinge of guilt that washes over me when I see Vin on the couch getting so fired up all by himself. Will this be one of those compromises everyone talks about in marriage? Should I at least attempt to understand this game so I can share this weekly experience with my husband?
The answer, of course, is no. But I will make him some freakin' incredible nachos.