It was Monday Night Football. My favorite team was playing. A big divisional game with playoff
implications. To say I was hyper was an
understatement. I take my football
seriously, and as the game progressed through the first half, it was turning
into a nail biter. As halftime
approached, I was in a bit of a tizzy because my team was down and not looking
great.
Now, my boy was due a punishment he had earned himself over
the weekend. After the teams had headed
into the tunnels, I turned to him and simply said
“Shall we take care of the punishment now, or wait till
after the game?” Wanting to enjoy my
game, but knowing he would most likely fall asleep on me… I gave him the option
to pick his poison.
“I’d rather wait till after the game in hopes you’ll be in a
better mood.”
“Alright, but if you fall asleep, it will be doubly worse
tomorrow night.”
He began chanting for my teams quarterback as he was lightly pounced. Leaving him kissed, poked and prodded, I
settled back in my seat for the second half.
Barely 15 mins into the restart of the game, his breathing shifted into
that steady rhythm that indicates he was falling asleep. To keep from getting irritated I focused my
attention fully on the game, cheering the good plays, pouting over the bad
ones. It wasn’t until my team rattled
off a HUGE play that sent me flying off the couch, cheering wildly. It startled him so badly; he himself woke up
and went flying off the couch. Admittedly,
I smiled wickedly inside for the abrupt end to his siesta.
