I have no explanation for it. I ransacked my brain, trying to figure out if I was just being a good sport so the new guy would like me.
I watched an entire football game. I asked reasonably intelligent questions. I may even have made some noise when the Packers scored that second touchdown. [I should probably tell my sister, who inherited our dad’s football-loving genes. Nah.]
They are not going to believe this at work. Nor the fact that I, the Anti-Tamale, ate half of one and thought it was pretty tasty, too.
After the game and the blah-blah that followed, we watched the first few minutes of Glee. I don’t get it. It’s not funny enough to be a comedy. There wasn’t enough singing in what we saw, for it to be a musical (though what we saw was better than the half-time show). And Jane Lynch’s character is just boring.
That’s the big secret of the universe: evil is boring. [In case you were wondering.] It just hopes you don’t figure that out. Goodness, in all its infinite variety, is the only thing that matters.
He’s wearing that to work today. And I have five minutes to get dressed and out the door if I want a stress-free commute.
There is cheesecake in the fridge. Pippa was right.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!