I suppose the Martinis will help me get through it, somewhat. Frankly, I can’t see the attraction myself, unless you’re into bulging male bums squeezed into tighter than tight shiny leggings topped off with King Kong shoulders. Not my bag! However, my darling’ husband loves football (not talking about the real thing mind you, i.e., soccer/football). Unlike me, he understands what’s really happening as grown men chase, catch and drop a ball that looks more like a mini blimp. They do so repeatedly getting nowhere very slowly, meanwhile knocking the brains, teeth and other parts out of each other in the process. This is a game in which 5 minutes of play can become a ½ hour; I may be exaggerating … just a tad. On the brighter side, Super Bowl Sunday is an opportunity for me to reveal my sensitive side, yes it’s in there held in reserve for just such events. So I will pull out all the stops; prepare the platters; pop the corn; pour the beer into frosted mugs; stir the Martinis; feign interest and lavish my very hard working husband with the love and attention he so deserves, always 🙂. Happy Super Bowl!