This afternoon my home will be invaded by six guys with nothing better to do than watch the big TV and possibly spill Frank's red hot sauce on my couch. They'll drink all this beer, cheer too loud and ooze testosterone all over the place.
I was asked to make chicken wings and Philly cheesesteak sandwiches but not officially invited because I have been told I'm distracting and also, no chicks allowed.
Right.
Jacob, Loch, PJ, Christian, Tamerlane (is that not the coolest name ever?) and Jason are doing the Superbowl thing here. I will confiscate car keys and ensure that the taxi numbers are by the phone and the food is plentiful and hot and the beer is distributed and then I will make myself scarce. With the kids.
Where I will explain to them that Jake and the others are not actually football fans or anything, this is simply an excuse to indulge their caveman roots and act like fools. It's tradition. It's fun. It's a good excuse to throw a party on the coldest night of the year. His guests won't feel a thing when they leave anyway.
But first! Church! Because it's Sunday and while everyone else will skip it in favor of getting ready for tonight, I'll be greeting at the door, with Jake and the kids, the whole twelve people who will be in church today. Even the older people will stay home because it's a hella walk on a cold day and most people aren't venturing out this weekend.
They might be on to something.
Brrr. Gotta go!
