Sunday: Before Monday, after Saturday, the only day of the week that God gives the us the “OK” to take a break. The day that my dad bellows church hymns through the house, and my mom makes scrambled eggs and buttery toast as we listen to Car Talk and the Thistle & Shamrock.
Sunday’s the day that my dog lay, like a furry, obese doormat, on any floor or fireplace ledge that doesn’t look hairy enough. It’s the day that I clean my closet and shuffle through my old belongings in an ongoing process of elimination. It’s the day that, no matter what month, there always seem to be 19 football games on 82 channels and everyone knows what’s going on but me.
I really dislike football. In all honesty and with all due respect, if it ceased to exist I wouldn’t be heartbroken in the least. I know that while maybe it’s not my “thing,” “I” do not account for the millions of people who actually understand the game. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there that don’t know — or care — how a camera or computer work, and that’s just fine by them. That’s how I feel about football, too. I just. Don’t. Care.
Then there’s my sister, now she’s something different. With all that she knows about sports, I am seriously questioning her gender. Maybe I am running with birds of different feathers, but I can’t say I know too many women that would rather root themselves in the couch in front of the TV on game day than, like, do ladylike things. Like. Like. Be a lady.
I love to hound her about this all the time. She’s got sarcastic wit, and often fires back with something twice as sassy. Today it was, “What, Jenny? You want me to start doing things that you do?”
She paused for a moment. I stared at her. “No.”
“You want me to start painting?”
“I don’t paint,” I corrected her.
“Fine,” she said, “you want me to start wearing berets?”
It fascinates me that my parents created two things so entirely contradicting. Here’s Heidi, watching football and eating pistachios off of her belly. Here’s Jenny, wearing berets. Oh, no! I don’t have a team, I don’t know the statistics, and I wear a cloth bean on my head. Apparently I am the enfant terrible.
Things I would rather do than watch football:
• Clean my shower. And sink. And toilet.
• Gnaw on a cauliflower ear. Not an ear of cauliflower — I said a cauliflower ear.
• (I can’t believe I just said that.)
• Watch garbage decompose
• Clip my toe nails
• Shovel the roof of my house…in my swimsuit.
• Break my collarbone playing Red Rover
• Immerse myself in a steaming pool of banana juice.
Alright. You get the point.
Happy Sunday trails — !