Is it wrong that I rooted for Mike Tomlin because he's Black?
Here's the thing: I know nothing about football. Less than nothing. Considering I was a cheerleader for three years, this is a bit pathetic. All I know is that a "first and ten" is good, a touchdown is six points, (possibly seven?) and sometimes all the guys will huddle around the ball and watch it wobble for some reason. (What is that about?!)
I don't have a favorite football team. I guess if I had to root for a team, I would go with the home team. But what is the home team for New Jersey? We don't have a football team. Right? The Giants are a New York team. But they play in Jersey? I truly don't know.
For the Superbowl, it's no fun to watch if you're not going to root for somebody. I was already leaning towards the Steerlers 'cause they're on the east coast. And because Arizona is McCain country.
Then, in the days leading up to the game, I caught a few pre-game interviews with Mike Tomlin, the head coach of the Pittsburgh Steelers.
Within thirty seconds, I was sold. The Steelers had to win. Tomlin is young, cute, intelligent, well-spoken and...he's got that other thing going on. That thing I fully support. You know what I'm talking about...
My nephew Jordan is a senior in college. He's been staying with us for the whole summer while taking classes and working on campus. I love having him around. He mows the lawn, helps out with TG and Tog and keeps me company on the days I work from home.
Two nights ago, I'm sitting on the couch. Jordan and his girlfriend are sitting across from me. We're all half-watching a repeat of the show Wife Swap.
I wonder aloud: What kind of wife would the producers swap with me?
Jordan's girlfriend piped up immediately:
"A wife who does a lot of housekeeping!"
Um. Okay.
My nephew Jordan adds helpfully:
"Yeah, a wife who cleans up and cooks. And one who doesn't talk back to her husband and isn't really bossy."
What the?
So obviously, this is what Jordan has taken away from his summer with me.
I'm bossy. I don't cook. I don't clean.
Translation: I suck as a wife and a mother.
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TG had a swim meet yesterday. On the way out, I stopped and jumped on a scale near the exit doors.
A brief breakdown on me and scales: I don't own one. And I don't believe in them. If I go to the doctor, I'll jump on and see what it says. If I'm at my mom's house and I wash my hands, I'll get on the scale in her bathroom and check.
My weight doesn't fluctuate too wildly. And I'm not a slave to the number. I pay closer attention to how my clothes fit. When the jeans get a bit tight or hard to button, I know it's time to tighten things up.
So. I get on the scale yesterday. And I am very unhappy with the number staring back at me.
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Dear readers, let’s talk about the woman above. Based on what she’s wearing would you say that she is:
A. A stay-at-home mom on her way to drop her kids off at school.
B. On her way to the gym for a quick workout after work.
C. A fashion reject who thinks this is an appropriate outfit to wear outside of the house.
OR
D. A writer who doesn’t come into contact with other professionals on a daily basis and so puts together ridiculous costumes like this because she’s always dashing out of the house and doesn’t put enough thought into what she’s wearing because hey, who cares, I’m just going to sit in my office all alone all day and no one will see me but Alberto, who manages the building, and he doesn’t care if I look insane.
If you chose D, you’re wrong. It’s C.