Debates and Touchdowns

I like football. I can enjoy a game watching the Chargers on Sunday afternoon as much as the next guy. My husband does not like football. He LOVES football. He lives football. He breathes it.

It at times annoys me.

He wears his jersey while leading worship at church. Every Sunday. He has three fantasy football teams. He is involved in a college football pool. If he had his way, he would watch every. single. game.

I used to think I loved football. But after marrying him, I have rethought it, and next to him, I just like football.

Last night, there were two things on tv at the same time. Thursday night football and the Vice Presidential Debate. Not only is politics a love of mine, it is also my job to watch stuff like debates. Last week, Toby watched the debate with me, but this week, I told him he didn’t have to.

He went in the living room and watched the football game. I went in the kitchen and made dinner and watched the debate on the computer while I cooked.

Baked white mac and cheese… delish.

But anyways, Toby was in watching the game, and I hardly heard anything, but he did hear me…

While I was supposed to be a good wife cooking her husband dinner, he kept hearing me yelling. Probably worse than that guy in the front row of the football game with his shirt off and a random letter on his chest that him and his buddies long forgot what order they should be in.

I am that bad.

He does not get it. Just like I don’t get the football obsession. We just look at each other, shake our heads, smile, and debate which one is better….

…and since we debate it, I think it proves that my obsession is better.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s