Since I've been married, I have really gotten into NFL football. For the first time in my life I truly enjoy watching games in their entirety. Naturally, my husband sees this as a big plus -- he can watch as many as three games on a Sunday and I won't protest a bit because it's just as much fun for me. I actually owe the enjoyment to him in the first place because he patiently waded through throngs of pesky (and often repetitive) questions over the past couple years, and thanks to him I understand the game.
There inevitably comes a point in every game, however, where he must wish I was off loll-y-gagging like in the old days. It happens toward the end of said game, usually when a timeout is called. Water boys/men trudge out with their bottles and proceed to pour water down players' throats as I recite my version of the verbal exchange...
Player: (huff & puff) "I'm so tired. Can you just lift the bottle up to my face?"
Water boy: "OK, little guy, open your mouth."
Player: "Ya, can you squeeze the bottle for me so the water goes right in?"
Water boy: "Sure thing."
Player: "That's it. Oh, are you a life saver! If I have to lift my arm in a drinking motion one more time..."Really? 300-pound men are falling on your body while you grab at their jerseys with all your might, but drinking out of a water bottle -- that's just too much? Well, then, it's sure a good thing your career doesn't depend on being strong and agile.
Then the other night, as our heater came on for the bajillionth time this winter, I was finally able to identify the sound it initially makes. The loud popping/puffing sound (which prompts my brother to ask "Is that the Lord"?) is none other than a flame spurt warning from the Fire Swamp.
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