Super Bowl Sunday

Well, it's Super Bowl Sunday and only half an hour to go until the Big Game! Woohoo! Yeah. Yippie skippie. LOL

And next Sunday is the Pro Bowl. And then football season will be over!!!!! Not that I'm happy or anything. heh

The problem is, is that it never ends. We've got 30 million basketball games on TV from now until the end of never. And of course the Daytona 500 is coming up soon, which means that Nascar will soon be heating up. Oh and spring training is coming up, which means baseball is not far off. Not that I have a problem with sports in general, it's when sports just takes over the TV. It's always somethin' that has to be watched. A football game, a Nascar race, a basketball game, and every Yankee game to be had on TV, of course. *sigh* It's college games and Busch series on Saturdays, and pro games and Nascar on Sundays. And during football season, it's Mondays and Thursdays, also. Holy crap.

My husband watches a lot of it. Granted, not as much as he'd like. In fact, if you asked him, I control the TV most of the time. ME. Yeah right. That's only if I turn the TV on first. And if I never get up to go to the bathroom. Because you know the unwritten rule about TV watching -- if you leave the room, you lose your right to control the remote. That's been the rule since the invention of the TV tube back in the 40s or whenever.

(We have a 46" flat panel TV, you understand. And any game has to be watched in high def. Natch.)

So my Dear Hubby (DH) will come into the room and sit down on the couch. Usually I'm watching something on HGTV, or Style Network, or TLC. Things like Clean House, House Hunters, What Not To Wear. All things that he'd rather walk over hot coals than watch. You can see, it almost makes him vomit to be in the same room with that on the TV. Dr. Phil and Oprah have the same effect on him.

SO Anyway, he slides into the room and onto the couch and sits and stares at the TV and tries not to gag. "What'cha watching, honey?" He says sweetly. This, in man-speak is interpreted as "When are you going to turn this shit off so I can watch my sports?"

"House Hunters," I reply, while surreptitiously slipping the remote in the couch cushions.

"Oh." he says. "Can I get you a soda? Some water?"

This, once again, in manspeak means "If she has a lot of liquids she'll have to go to the bathroom sooner than later, and the remote will be mine!! Hahahaha!" I can see the gleam in his eye.

"No thank you, honey." I say, equally sweetly. You see, I'm on to him. I know what he wants.

The problem? Is that once the seed is planted, guess what? I have to pee. Now. Damn.

I hadn't even thought about peeing, but now that I know that's what he wants me to do, that's when my bladder makes itself known. I squirm in my seat. DH is watching me carefully out of the corner of his eye as he pretends to be doing something else. He knows me. He knows what that squirm means. And he also knows that I had two cans of diet coke with my lunch earlier, and my nearly 50-year-old bladder has the holding power of a teaspoon.

*sigh*

It's not worth it. I don't care; I have to pee! NOW! Reluctantly, I get up from the couch. I see my husband tense, preparing for the pounce on the remote as soon as my butt clears the couch. I reach down with my hand and shove the remote down further into the couch cushions just for good measure. I know that it won't stop him from finding, it; but it will slow him down some. I feel a little jolt of satisfaction as I hear the remote drop down onto the floor underneath the couch. Now he'll have to get down on his knees and fish for it. Heh.

And yes, when I come back from the bathroom, the TV station is on ESPN. My DH sees me out of the corner of his eye. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he waves the remote in his right hand.

"You left the room, honey. I thought you were done watching that show."

Now I'll never know if they picked House #1, House #2, or House #3. But that's okay; I secretly TiVo'd the show, just in case of such an emergency. I'll watch it later after my DH is in bed.