|You're not impressing anyone #93.|
With loads of football on yesterday, I figured I'd butter up to the wife (also known as "The Czar" these days) in an attempt to regain control of my remote and my sanity. So while she slept in, I straightened up our changing room, aka our future baby's room?, aka our future ping pong room?, aka the place where I currently leave all my pants on the floor, and she woke up completely blown away and VERY agreeable. Mission accomplished! And thus, I was able to watch the first half of the Packers-Bears game before I fell asleep on the couch and woke up an hour later to find her asleep on the other couch hugging the remote control and muttering sweet nothings about Mike Tomlin's ridiculously strong jaw line.
I gotta say though, it is LUDICROUS that NFL players feel the need to play in short sleeves in freezing cold temperatures. Who are they trying to impress here? Is it intimidating to look across the line of scrimm and see a guy who's pretending not to be cold? Yesterday, I went out to pick up some pizza and seriously considered putting on two pairs of long underwear. The only reason I didn't was because I straightened up to the point where I no longer know where anything is. I mean, I get it, I get it, football players are tough, real men wear short sleeves, Big Ben wears gloves on both hands, but real men also wake up at 7am on Sunday mornings to fold laundry. Real men also get ridiculously excited when Real Housewives of Atlanta comes on. I know this because real men also get BAR MITZVAH'D and I did that back in 1990, LIKE A BOSS!
|This guy doesn't need short-sleeves to impress. But he does need furry boots.|
Well, last night, my wife's brother, Nick, who doesn't own a television and is currently in that mid-20's, "I care about stuff" phase of his life, joined us in the living room and watched Real Housewives of Atlanta for the first time. Not the best first impression by my girl, Nene, as she came off like a crazy person who might wear short sleeves in freezing cold temperatures. Nick did however get a warm, southern, Atlanta introduction to Cynthia's butt. She's got a donk! It also became apparent that Cynthia's fiance, Peter, seriously needs to straighten up his house. That lady is on the brink.
Any time that Phaedra came on the screen, Nick asked if she was drunk. And at one point, this conversation took place:
Nick: Who's that guy?
My wife and I in unison: Kim's wig stylist.
All in all, a pretty fantastic Sunday: some football, a nap, a giant black woman threatening to strangle and pop out a white lady's eyeballs out (and drown her in the ocean, AND drown her in the ocean) and one very happy wife who may or may not be a dictator.
Our day ended with this clear reminder that my wife and I are definitely not in that mid-20's "hey, there's important stuff out there in the world!" state of our lives.
Nick: Anyone excited for the President's State of the Union Address?
Me: When's that? Tonight?
My wife: I'll be at Zumba.