We watched the Super Bowl last night. We were home for a change, and opted to watch it all by ourselves, snugged up on the couch, eating corn dogs and rice krispy treats. It might have been what I consider a perfect evening, except for the fact that Tom Brady is a warlock and the reason we can’t have nice things.
(What the actual hell, Falcons? Did he mesmerize you? I know he has sad little eyes, but dang. It’s the Super Bowl.)
I’m going to admit fully I was present for the company and commercials more than anything. Those and the corn dogs. And the running commentary I can’t help but have about the people involved. When there’s a crowd of forty billion people on television, there’s generally something off in the left hand corner of the screen going on I’m drawn to, because squirrel.
“Woah! Holy Jeebus, did you see that girl’s lips? Houston, we have a problem … the facial fillers have taken over! How does she talk with those things? Buh-dee-buh-dabba-duh! Haha! Quack!”
I’m also very empathetic to the facial expressions of other people. I could lie and say this is from years of dealing with dementia patients, so I will.
“Oh my goodness he looks sad, why does Tom Brady look so sad? Is his wife having an epileptic seizure? Someone should check her…. She has really nice hair. Is she a model? Wow. What does that face mean? Yikes.”
“I think the dirty guy in the cut off sweatshirt just said the ‘eff’ word. A lot. The guy he’s yelling at looks scared. Look at him. I think he’s going to cry.”
George is used to all of this, and it generally doesn’t bother him until I’ve been at it for two or three hours, and Tom Brady is winning.
“That stadium looks like a spaceship. It’s going to zoom up into outer space if Brady pulls this one off. He’s crazy-good. I’m sorry, I know you don’t like him, but he’s really good, he’s probably an alien.”
“Oh my God. It’s going into overtime. Can you believe that? Did you see how dirty his fingernails were in the replay? Isn’t that astro-turf? Why are his hands so filthy? Gross. They need a hand sanitizer person to go out with the water people. Did you see how pretty the water girl is on the Falcon sideline? Look at her.”
Mr. Parker suffered this entire game fully believing for the first half that the Falcons were going to win, listening to my constant babble, and when the game went into overtime, he’d had his fill. He got “quiet dad” voice on and made a final request for the evening.
“I’ve listened to Mystery Science Theater Super Bowl for almost three hours, do you think we could just be quiet during overtime?”
Now, I could have gotten mad and flounced off, but sometimes I’m a reasonable person and I realize I might be a little bit annoying. (Know thyself, it comes in handy for long-term relationships.) I was also pretty emotionally drained from the commercials, so I handed him the last corn dog, kissed him on the forehead and told him I was sorry Tom Brady was an alien warlock before taking my book and going to bed. Brady may have mesmerized the Falcons, but he ain’t gonna get me with his mind tricks.
Stay focused, my friends. Unless there’s a squirrel or a really bad lip job to talk about…