So, the Superbowl happened. If you are on social media at all, you know that it happened. And you were firmly in one of two camps—either you spent the night talking about the Superbowl, or you spent the night talking about how much you don’t care about the Superbowl.
Really? Why must we do this? Why is it important to let people know that you dislike something that most people like? We get it. You’re a special kind of hipster—I didn’t like that mainstream things way before you didn’t like it.
Last night was filled with blackouts and impressively bendy Beyonce concerts and Oreo viral ads and conversations with my daughter about football players wearing leggings as pants. I did not go to a Superbowl party. I was invited to one, but I would have been the only female there and, I don’t know, the entire thing just felt a bit too testosterony for me so I stayed home to watch with my three little monsters. We did not eat chicken wings or drink beer or eat nachos. We didn’t play that end-of-quarter number game (does this have a name?) We didn’t get to see any of the US commercials—but we got a Twitter play-by-play about the good ones, the bad ones, and the gross ones (GoDaddy, it seems). Luckily we seemed to have dodged some bad commercial bullets, as I am not a fan of two repulsive sounds—the chomping, chewing of food and slurpy kissing. So.
Since the Packers didn’t make it to the Superbowl, I had no real dog in this year’s fight.
Either did Isabella.
I mean, you know, other than the fact that I had Joe Flacco on my fantasy football team and, well, I really like The Wire.
In an effort to get my kids to be interested we ate cookies and popcorn in the family room (Do not tell their father) and made bets on the game. I almost felt badly that Emily did not have the Ravens, as the first half of the game made her worried that she’d be required to give me on-demand massages and the chills for two whole weeks straight.
I am really good at making bets. She gives the world’s best massages.
But then the lights went out and finally! we had a football game and there were yelps and screams and nervous giggling and laughing and crying and for one little moment, Emily was sure she was going to win this thing.
So if you are looking for her over the next two weeks, she’ll be behind me, cracking an egg on my head and letting the yolk run down and letting the chills go up.