We occasionally live a life of excess. I’ve started to cut back in some things – I’m eating better, I’m not buying frivolous books and I’m paring down our closet. There are a few things that still go to the extremes. One is our Super Bowl shenanigans.
The Super Bowl is the one day a year where the Bald One makes his infamous wings. We usually end up with three different mega bowls of it – one straight up Frank’s Red Hot and two that are doctored. This year one had a dose of Scorned Woman and the other was West African Voodoo. For those not spicy sauce aficionados, those are both on the 10+ range. Regular tabasco is around a seven. This year we got to watch someone sweat as they nibbled at the mildest flavor. Through years of living with my spice-addicted husband, I’ve developed a palate that allows for me to survive such food.
To add to the decadence of the wings, we had brownies, crackers and cheese, chips with three different kinds of dip (salsa, bean and con queso) and a veggie platter. The veggies and brownies were actually quite decimated by the end of the evening. The wings were packed away and my chef did dishes while I continued to pack up the remains of the munchies.
Clean up was completed just as House came on after the football festivities and we watched the beginning together. The Bald One disappeared during a set of commercials. I yelled it was back in case he was available…but he told me to go ahead without him. I didn’t, and puttered around a room I’ve been working on while waiting for him. Still no signs of life came from the room he had closeted himself in, so I went off to something else for a few minutes. That’s when I heard it.
The walls were shaking with the vibrations. There was a growl of an undertone to a breathing…sure enough, my husband was snoring. I found him curled up in the fetal position on the cold tile – a position I usually only see him in after drinking excessively. I didn’t think this was the case this evening so I badgered him into coming back to the living room with me where I could keep an eye on him.
Now he’s the snoring beast-thing on my carpeted floor while I type. Tomorrow’s a work-day for me, so I’ll be for bed shortly. Hopefully he’s not miserable for his one weekday off this week.