This is neither the time nor the place for me to examine and expound on my feelings about that last one, suffice it to say that I was surprised by the level of both my emotions and my compartmentalization skills. But that, my dear readers, is not what we are here to talk about.
We are here to talk about the best way to spend a Sunday afternoon…ever.
How to have a super classy Sunday afternoon in 6 easy steps:
1. Order two pizzas, one plain and one with pepperoni and mushrooms (because that is the best topping combination that you can create, as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be world without end. Amen.) Here’s the tricky part. You need to figure out a way to get the pizza place to screw up and make the latter a ½ pepperoni, ½ mushroom pizza. When you notice that this has happened utter a few sailor words under your breath and then take a piece of each, put them faces together and eat like a sandwich. Wash down pizza-sandwich with beer.
2. Collect 4 of your best boys and one Dumbdog and flop down on the couch to watch football. Mercilessly mock the poor playing of the handily outmatched team…then ruefully acknowledge to the group that you are infact rooting for that team. Continue mocking. Wash down shame with beer.
3. Notice that the
4. Go outside to watch Johnny (Actually, no, get your own mechanic buddy!) fix the clear coat on a bumper. Decide you want to lay down, but notice that your scorpio friend has fallen asleep on the couch with Dumbdog spooning his thigh. Jump in the back of Johnny’s pickup and proceed to almost take a nap. Wash down almost-nap with beer.
5. Set up some empty coke cans at one end of the yard. Sit on the stoop with Dumbdog and watch the guys shoot at the cans with BB guns, occasionally using the top of the grill (which you still can’t believe anyone would have thrown away) to aim. Smoke cigars and discuss the advantages and disadvantages of different types of work boots. Wash down smoke with beer.
6. Leave, onaccounta the owner of the house has to go have Sunday dinner at his mama's. (Like any good son would.)
...clearly, I am Junior League material.