If you know anything about my family, you know that male-famale ratio is pretty low. As in one to four. Well, if you include the animals, its three to five, but we don’t. What I’m saying is that it’s usually pretty estrogenetic around here. (Did I just make up a new word?)
So on Sunday Benny and one of my Poppi’s old buddies came over to do manly things like hang out in the scary basement to watch the Vikings-Packers game and eat chili spicy enough to make them have to blow their noses every 4 and a half minutes. (After the kleenex were all used up there were brownies, but that’s not too manly, so don’t tell.) I know because I hung out in the scary basement, too; eating the spicy chili (though my nose didn’t run) and dozing through the football game. It was hard sometimes, though, because of the yelling. Packer fans can be rather boisterous. And so help me, Ben, if you throw that pillow at me again I’ll defenestrate you.
After a while, I felt like I was being resented. My dad told me I was cramping their style, and that if I wasn’t down there, they’d be lighting farts and whatnot. I told them that if they wanted me to leave, to just say so; but then I was begged to stay. I guess I’m not the only one that feels that fart-lighting isn’t manly, it’s just gross.
After that, there was dance-dancing, where I was almost taken out by a stray flying fist; and then “V for Vendetta”. The movie was interesting, I’ll give it that.
Whooaaa…too much testosterone! It’s going to take the four of us women several chick-flicks to get the basement back to normal. Where’s my “You’ve Got Mail”?