Superbowl Sunday

We’re having a restful and quiet, if somewhat disappointing Superbowl Sunday. Usually we have dinner with Todd and Nancy—it’s always just their family and us and Fran and her folks. This year Todd and Nancy are doing something with their house, which means they’re in some state of disarray, and while I think they were still willing to have the party, Fran and her new boyfriend might have made some plans for the Superbowl since they didn’t hear anything from Todd, and weasel this and weasel that until I finally said let’s just do something later this semester. So I’m making Chex mix and little Smokies and clam dip and chili just for us. I wanted to see if Chris’s brother and their family could come over, but Chris said he’d rather not since, and I quote, “we finally got the house mostly cleaned up.” Evidently we have no friends who can be trusted not to trash our house, so we’re partying alone now.

I’m wondering if he just really wants to watch the game. When we were talking about Brad coming over, he said he wouldn’t be able to with all the kids; I said we never do watch the game, so what’s the big deal and got a dirty look, so maybe it’s all about the football. It is so not about the football for me. I like the food and hanging out with friends and the commercials of course are part of my professional study of American life and rhetoric. Two out of three. The really depressing thing is that I guess I’ll grade papers while I’m watching—no point wasting all that boring time when football’s on. Chris is back from the grocery store, I hear. I ran out of Worcestershire sauce, of all things. Back to work.