super something

My neighbor is having a Super Bowl party tonight. I know this because when I remarked that she must be having some sort of major repair done since I'd seen a pick-up in her driveway with a logo on the side and it was a Sunday, CD took a closer look and told me it was (yes, I'm serious) a Margarita Delivery Service Truck. Well, if you're going to be needing some serious margaritas, perhaps this is necessary. I wasn't invited, so I will never know, but I have experienced some serious margarita needs before.

The kids wanted to see the game. Preschool water cooler stuff I guess. Then Bug insisted on putting on his football costume (Tennessee Titans, thank you cousin from TN) and going out with CD to play "Super Bowl". They played until CD worried about his back. Meanwhile I started some oven-fried chicken and put a vinyl tablecloth under the coffee table so my messy boys could eat in the den despite new carpet.

I made them take an oath before it started. "I promise" (I promise) "that no matter how cool the commercial, I will not ask you to buy me anything." They agreed to not ask for a new car. Then the game began and Bug asked at least sixteen times which team was which. CD's brother-in-law, living on the other side of the globe from us, is a huge Pittsburgh fan, so he decided our loyalties.

"What happened?" Bug then asked every time play stopped briefly. I tried to explain about four downs, touchdowns, yards and tackles. CD didn't laugh, but he showed great restraint. I know virtually nothing about football. I failed football in junior high school PE when one of my two attempts at passes dropped behind me (and I made a touchdown for the wrong team. Truly.) I went to the Peachbowl in Atlanta once, with a boyfriend who had played football, and he explained every play as it happened. It was the first and only time that I felt that my brain had room in it for football. Before then and since then I've just assumed football was a Y chromosome thing.

I won't let the boys play because they might just like it and I'm not ready for the brutality of it. "When grown-ups play it's tackle football but when kids play it's touch football?" Uh, no. The kids down the street are playing tackle after the age 5/6 league. But on TV, I'll call it a good experience in American culture and that's fine. Me, I'm wanting a margarita.