It has become an autumn ritual for me to share the level of football agony that my husband is going through. Now, when I say agony, I don’t mean that he suffers physical pain while playing football. (Please, the last time the man threw a football, a Darrell Royal Memorial Football, was on our couch at the Texas/OU game last year.)
His trauma is 100% emotional and it’s all down to being a die-hard University of Texas football fan. This fall, his hopes were so high for an amazing season that he refreshed his UT wardrobe with a new sweatshirt.
But alas, as I write this, the Horns, while not exactly conference cellar dwellers, are, in my husband’s words, “not living up to their full potential”. It makes all of their close quarters losses that much more painful and I truly believe the only thing sustaining him right now is the team’s 49-0 win over Oklahoma last month.
In an effort to get away from having to be an eyewitness to my husband’s many moods as he watches a UT game – and by many moods I mean yelling at the TV, cursing at the TV, yelling at the umpires on TV, pouting, texting rage in his UT football band and, as if after almost every game, swearing never to watch again – I made the decision at the start of the season of “having plans” when games were taking place.
At first, my husband didn’t really notice that I wasn’t there, but recently he asked me why I “didn’t enjoy games with him anymore.” I told him that we must have very different ideas of fun because there was nothing fun in enduring football with him. He seemed hurt by my statement.
So, I decided I had to give him a taste of what it’s like to watch someone on a crazy team by inviting him to enjoy one of my favorite “sports”: competitions. pastry shop. I chose what I consider to be the super sugar bowl – a holiday baking championship.
Before we even started the show two minutes, I started yelling at the TV, “No, you idiot, don’t bake a cake in a round pan, it’ll never bake in time.” Use a baking sheet. I then began to chant aggressively, “Spread that paste!” scatter that paste!
A few minutes later, when another contestant let his caramel burn, I jumped off the couch and shouted, “You’re called a baker? You can’t ignore your caramel. Has she ever read a recipe? This requires continuous stirring. Was this woman washed out of cooking school or what? »
Then when someone had the uninspired idea of making a brownie, I lost. “Oh my God, you don’t make brownies in a baking contest. This is not a college home EC course. How about a chocolate chip cookie?
During the judgment, I became even more agitated. “Do these so-called judges need an eye exam? This guy makes a cake that looks like something that came out of my Easy-Bake oven in 1974 and he wins. Meanwhile, the baker who makes a 3-foot-tall macaroon tower is sent home. I’m finished. So it’s done. I can’t watch this anymore. It’s totally ridiculous.” I then walked out of the room and sighed a lot.
“Very funny,” my husband said, then added defiantly, “I’m nothing like that.”
“Yeah,” I said with a smile. “You are worse.” I then celebrated that I had made my point spectacularly by eating what was left of our Halloween candy which I had no doubt was better than that winning cake.
Contact Sherry Kuehl at firstname.lastname@example.org, on Facebook at Snarky in the Suburbs, on Twitter at @snarkynsuburbs on Instagram @snarky.in.the.suburbs and snarkyinthesuburbs.com.
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