Here We Go

In three days, it will begin again.

Don't look at me like that. You live in the South (probably), so you know exactly what I'm talking about.

In spite of my complete lack of interest in the actual game, I will do my part by wearing something houndstooth, adorning my children in script A's and cutesy pictures of Big Al, and hanging our crimson and houndstooth H on the front door. It really is a pretty H. (Thanks, Nina!) Oh, and DWH thinks I need to do that feigning interest in something I don't care about in order to participate in conversations thing, so I will occasionally ask the score. It's a school spirit thing, really. Roll Tide and all that.
I suppose I should get a new Mercer t-shirt too, since they have a football team now.

I know, I go on about how little I care for sports every year at this time. But, I will remind you that I enjoy football season just as much as the rest of you, only for different reasons. Hooray for nachos! Hooray for good excuses to get together with old friends! Hooray for knowing we're one weekend closer to fall!
Also, it's not that I haven't tried. I have. I have gone to a few games. I read the book DWH got me for Christmas one year. I've stayed in the same room when the game was on and tried - Oh! how I've tried - to pay attention. It just is not my thing. And, that's OK. I still support those of you who love it.

So, even if I won't be entirely sure who Alabama is playing until the end of November (even I know that one!), I hope they win. And, if my eyes glaze over when you start talking about touchdowns and tackles (Wow! my sports vocabulary has VASTLY improved over the last ten years!), don't judge me too harshly. And, in return, I promise to try not to judge you when you don't know the difference between a Death Eater and a Dementor. That's fair, right?

P.S. I'd like to share a quick anecdote on the subject. DWH and his brothers reportedly told their younger sister that she would never find a man if she didn't like sports. According to the sister, this influenced her decision to learn about football.
Fast forward several years. DWH married me. He married the woman who, when we met, had ESPN parentally controlled out of her TV because it was just a nuisance, getting in the way of channels she might actually watch.
I love irony.
I love my husband for  putting up with me, too.

P.P.S.  Every day = daily. Each day. "I brush my teeth every day."
           Everyday = routine. It's an adjective. "I have a long list of everyday chores to complete."
My apologies. I had to get that out of my system.
Thus concludes my pompous rant for the day.