I missed a golden opportunity over the holidays to write about something very important to me. Something that is a special part of my life. And by “special” I mean “sucky.” I used to think women were exaggerating about being “football widows.” Now I think, “AMATEUR.”
(This was my expression through much of the holiday.)
I’ve been married for ten years. Every year is the same, yet I seem to block out the pain in blissful forgetfulness until it happens again. Each year I look forward to the 2 weeks of vacation I’ve hoarded so I can spend time at home, relaxing and enjoying some well deserved time off.
And then reality strikes.
This vacation time is not about me.
It’s not about this celebratory time of year, the birth of Christ, the First Noel, Away in a Manager, family, togetherness, or even food.
It’s about College Bowl Games.
It’s about a living room that is rearranged to accommodate two televisions and three men. Instead of Christmas carols, the house echos with the hum of the DVR, chanting crowds and achingly repetitive marching band horn sections.
Do you know how many Bowl Games there are?
I do.
35.
Thirty-five games between December 21st and January 6.
Thirty-five games that my college football addicted husband HAS to watch.
He’s in nirvana.
Seriously. Who needs to watch the Valero Bowl? Russell Athletic Bowl? Franklin American Mortgage Music City Bowl? WHO?
It’s times like this I decide I am either the most boring, unattractive woman on the planet, unworthy of time or attention… or I am married to a crazy person. (I lean toward crazy because he says things like, “We’d spend plenty of time together if you’d sit and watch the games with me.”)
Right. That’s happening.
He DID participate in the actual Christmas morning and Christmas eve traditions. But other than that I didn’t really get to enjoy the pleasure of his company until January 5th, when there was just ONE conveniently timed game.
Between you and me, by then, I wasn’t sure that I even wanted his company any more.
Lucky me! We actually made it to breakfast and American Hustle before the GoDaddy Bowl.
So this is my official notice. I am NOT taking 2 weeks off during the holidays next year. As Pete Townshend says, “I won’t be fooled again.”
No. Next year, after the last whistle of the LAST bowl game of the season, I will return to my home where I will re-introduce myself to my husband and pry the remote control from his death-grip.
And I will enjoy two weeks at home without football.
Just in time for the Super Bowl pre-pre-pre-game shows.
* Disclaimer: I DID watch the BCS National Championship and it WAS exciting. Maybe that’s because it was the last one of the season and I was drinking champagne.
Happy New Year, everyone!
