I'm currently nestled in a large, over-stuffed leather recliner, two blankets covering my legs and my laptop plopped upon my lap. I'm trying desperately to entertain myself in order to still "spend time" with my hubby. However, he seems hell bent on watching baseball.
I'm hell bent on staying conscious.
It's not that I don't like sports - it's that - oh - fine! I'm not a sports lover! I'm just not mentally coordinated enough to learn a foreign language that consists of words like "bunt" and "innings" and am not ready to call anything or anyone a "batter" without having to add eggs, oil and water to it!
But I'm supportive in my ignorance. I smile prettily when Harry's happy about some crazy catch where a young man contorts his body backwards over a fence in order to score a flyball in his little orange mitt. I jump when he whoops over a good pitch. And I tend to pretend to be interested in instant replays - because - obviously I wasn't paying attention the first time the play happened - thus the need for the instant rewind and play.
And I smile.
Because I have no clue what the hell is going on.