It’s become a fall ritual for me to share the level of football agony my husband is experiencing. Now when I say agony, I don’t mean that he’s suffering from any physical pain from playing football. (Please, the last time the man threw a football, a Darrell Royal commemorative football, it was at our couch during last year’s Texas/OU game. )
His trauma is 100 percent emotional and it’s all courtesy of being a diehard University of Texas football fan. This fall his hopes were so high for an extraordinary season that he refreshed his U.T. wardrobe with a new sweatshirt.
But alas, as I write this the Horns while not exactly conference cellar dwellers aren’t in the words of my husband “living up to their full potential.” This makes all their close losses even more painful and I truly believe the only thing that’s currently sustaining him is the team’s 49 to 0 victory over Oklahoma last month.
In an effort to distance myself from having to be an eyewitness to the many moods of my husband as he watches a UT game (And by many moods I mean yelling at the TV, cursing at the TV, screaming at the refs on the TV, pouting, rage texting in his UT football group and, as if on cue after almost every game, vowing to never watch again.) I made the decision early in the season to “have plans” when the games were on.
My husband at first didn’t really notice that I wasn’t around but recently he asked why I was no longer “enjoying the games with him.” I told him we must have very different concepts of enjoyment because there was nothing fun about enduring football with him. He seemed hurt by my statement.
So, I decided I needed to give him a taste of what it’s like watching someone on team crazy by inviting him to savor one of my favorite “sports” – baking competitions. I picked what I consider the super bowl of sugar – a holiday baking championship.
Before we were even two minutes into the show I started yelling at the TV, “No you dummy do not bake a cake in a round pan it will never cook in time. Use a sheet pan.” I then began aggressively chanting, “Disperse that batter! disperse that batter!”
A few minutes later when another contestant let her caramel burn, I jumped off the couch and screamed, “You call yourself a baker. You can’t ignore your caramel. Has she never read a recipe? It requires c-o-n-t-i-n-u-o-u-s stirring. Did this woman wash out of culinary school or something?”
Then when someone had the uninspired idea to make a brownie, I lost it. “Oh my God, you don’t make brownies at a baking competition. This isn’t a junior high Home Ec class. What’s next, a chocolate chip cookie?
During the judging I became even more agitated. “Do these so-called judges have macular degeneration? This one guy makes a cake that looks like something that came out of my Easy Bake Oven in 1974 and he wins. Meanwhile the baker that does a three-foot-high macaron tower gets sent home. I’m done. So, done. I can’t watch this anymore. It’s totally ridiculous.” I then stomped out of the room and sighed a lot.
“Very funny,” my husband said and then added defiantly, “I’m nothing like that.
“Yeah, “I smiled, “you’re worse.” I then celebrated that I had spectacularly made my point by eating what was left of our Halloween candy which, I had no doubt, was better than that winning cake.
While we’re on the topic of celebrations let’s focus our attention on my latest book that came out last month – FOUR SEASONS of SNARKY! 🎉 Click here for Kindle and paperback! www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGYQ9GK2
Crazy is always in season, especially when you live in the burbs.
Epic yard wars (Because it’s always a good day when you call tell the HOA to suck it.), a PTA take down (Spoiler alert – lice is a great way to clear a room), bizarre goings on at a Parents Day Out program, Little League intrigue (Apparently, you don’t know real power until you become “Commissioner” of your local Little League.), a tale of Vacation Bible School taking an, ahem, rather unfortunate turn, how to get kicked out of the Junior League (It was harder than you might think), a science fair stalker and turning Christmas inflatables into a revenge plot
All this and more are in Four Seasons of Snarky featuring some of the greatest hits from Snarky in the Suburbs. Where schemes, payback, and retribution scenarios all tell the tale of a woman who will admit she might be crazy, but you know in a good way. 😉