You guys! You are the best. Thank you, thank you for indulging me with your comments and sharing my pancakes. Sorry I hogged the syrup.
In other news and happenings, I’d like to inform you that if a person didn’t know that the Super Bowl was going to happen next weekend, a person might, I mean maybe, accidentally book tickets for her and Ben and Emily and Dan to go see a musical show. Four glorious tickets to a matinée of Wicked (!), on Super Bowl Sunday. A person might do this! By accident.
But let me tell you, if a person did do this, she wouldn’t hear the end of it. The Ben, and also the Dan, wouldn’t be entirely happy with the person. Because the person would have inadvertently taken away a Ben’s and a Dan’s ritual of manhood, one of body-bashing and fist-waving/yelling-at-the-tv and zone-blitzing and chicken-winging, and replaced it with… Glinda.
Let’s eat some chicken chili stew? A warm and hearty peace offering? It’s totally manly. You can smother it in shredded cheese and sour cream and eat it with corn chips. Like men. Like men at a Super Bowl party. Or, um, the theater.
Just… just eat. We’re cool, right?