Dude on the Sofa

(post copyright 2013, Dawn Weber)

Some guy’s on the couch in the sunroom, watching TV. A dark-haired, flannel-shirted, fella.

As I pass through the room - several (hundred) times - with the laundry, the dog, the vacuum, Jimmy Hoffa, I glance at this vaguely familiar man. Whoever he is, I’m not too worried, because he’s transfixed by the television. Also, he’s been there, immobile, for a long time - just sitting. I am somewhat in awe of this.

I haven’t sat down during the day in my house since the Bush administration. The first one.

After a week or two, I begin to wonder if this individual is breathing. So I head over to inspect . . . and see that it is, indeed, my spouse, still alive. Only then, with the blaring ESPN, I realize:

It’s football season.

No wonder I haven’t seen him much lately. I should maybe watch some games with him.

That's right. From time to time, while the husband watches sports on a nice fall afternoon, I like to bug the hell out of spend some time with him while he enjoys his favorite sport. It’s no problem - I’m a giver.

And he LOVES this. 

So I walk on out to him in the middle of the room and stand in front of the TV.

"What quarter is it?" I ask.

He sighs. "This is Sportscenter. Not a game."

“Oh. O.K."  

I see a flash of a familiar face, then point at the screen. "Hey, look! It’s that guy!”

“What guy?” he asks.

“You know . . . c’mon. That guy!” 

 “WHAT guy?” he says, through gritted teeth.

“That kicker from Ohio State a few years ago," I tell him. "You know who I mean . . . Ted Nugent!”

 “MIKE Nugent," he rubs his temples. Hard. "Don’t you have some Facebooking to do?”

Isn’t that nice? How thoughtful of him to think of my hobbies in this manner. I can tell he really wants to spend MORE time with me and share his affection for the cow-skin.

It’s just too bad I don’t know more about football.

So later in the day when I pass him with the hamper, I decide to plop down for a minute. 

“Who’s playing?”

He closes his eyes. “Dawn. Look at the TV. It’s Ohio State.”

“Huh," I say. "But their uniforms are red. They were white last week.”

“They played away last week, so they wore white," he says. "They wear red at home, and they’re playing home this week. That’s what they do.”

“Well how do people keep up with all these outfit changes?”

He rubs his temples so hard that I fear for the safety of his brain. 

“Don’t you have some blogging to do?”

Again, so considerate! Can you feel the love tonight? I take this as my sign to stick around, keep him company . . . because clearly, he LOVES this. It’s just too bad I don’t know more about football.

“Who are they playing today?” I ask.

He's still rubbing his temples. “Florida A & M.”

“Florida A & M? That’s a lot smaller than OSU. I thought Ohio State was supposed to be good? Why are they playing these small schools?”

*Crickets* 

*Temple-rubbing* 

*Teeth-gritting*

“You know," I say. "I was supposed to go to the winery with Marjie, but I don’t have any money. That’s O.K., though, I’d rather stay here with you and talk the football . . .”

“Here!” he says, jumping to his feet. 

He rummages around in his pocket and pulls out a handful of cash. 

"Go ahead!" he says. "Have fun! You never get to go out!”

Yes. 

It’s really too bad I don’t know more about football.