I genuinely love watching sports.
I am surprised that some super successful man hasn’t swept me off my feet and claimed me on that characteristic alone.
There is nothing more I love than cuddling up on a Sunday and watching football all day long [bonus points if the New York Football Giants are televised.]
In reality, this little afternoon never happens, but in my head it is wonderful and it also includes calorie free snacks and chocolate.
You know what does happen in reality on Sunday afternoons?
Golf.
I hate golf. So does a majority of the female population.
Frankly, I am not sure how people consider golf a sport, but not dance. That, my friend, is a different issue entirely.
Anyway, here I am, snuggled up on the couch ready for an afternoon of, well really anything besides golf, and I am clicker commando-ed by my father who just so happens to love watching golf.
Apparently I was witnessing one of the “biggest golf moments of the season.” [Please contain your excitement, I know I was able to.]
My dad, completely enthralled by the whimsical sport that is golf, has gone into a typical sports-trance where he no longer acknowledges anyone in the room. My mom and I continue to carry on a conversation, because let’s face it, you don’t actually need to hear what is going on in order to follow the game: he either gets it in the hole, or he doesn’t. end.of.story.
After coming to a natural pause in our conversation, my mom and I realized that this whole “watching golf” excerpt of our afternoon was nowhere near its conclusion, so we decided to make it interesting.
[Insert excessive cheering/whooping/booing/ No golf claps permitted, please here]
I must admit, after our new rule implementation, I have to say that watching golf wasn’t even completely miserable. Dare I say, even semi tolerable?
I feel, that should there be another unforeseeable-forced-golf-watching session in my future, I will be able to stomach it, with the help of facebook and jsn.blogspot, of course.
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