If you ask a woman the first thing that comes to mind when saying the word February she will probably say something like: love, roses, valentine, candle light, romance or all of the above (please, what woman only says one word). But for men the typical response this year is: super bowl. I mean, there might be a few exceptions to the typical couple, like, for example, us. I usually give the one word answers and my husband’s romantic side always out weighs any pig skin or athletic related anything. He’s the kind who starts planning our up coming fifth anniversary in November (me: planning starts the day before) and has a road map laid out with every pit stop to be made on the get away he has booked (me: what? You need to pee?)
So this year I took a cue from my husband and stopped being so, err male, and decided to treat him to a Super Bowl party, that, umm, is not being hosted by yours truly. I guess what I mean to say is, I will send him off to a party with a humble offering of man food (read: meatball subs scaled to single servings (read: meat (read: manly chest pound and war cry))) while I stay home and wait out the Idon’tknowhowlongafootballgameis time by doing something more my speed: making a snack for our get away travels. Or organizing my closet while imagining it contains walk-in space. Or picking up the 391 toys strewn across the house. Or, just maybe, I will sneak over to the game and steal a few
snacks sliders. That’s how I roll.