Like millions of other Americans around the world, my Sundays in fall are all about football. Specifically, the Green Bay Packers, who are currently 5-0 and killing it. Whatever it is (or, the Bears, depending on the weekend).
Now that BV and I have been together a few years, he has been fully indoctrinated into the fandom, and dutifully joins me for most of the games. I usually let him off the hook for the ones that start at 2:30 am on work nights, which I think is fairly excusable.
So last Sunday evening just before 7, I was busily filling the living room table with taco fixins’ and beers, when I called out to him that it was almost game time and therefore time to don something green or gold and come on in. I had our fireplace going and it was fairly warm in the living room, so I offered him the use of my newly washed Packer sweatshirt, while I sported my t-shirt.
As I ran back and forth grabbing dinner supplies, he came into the kitchen to help with the last bowls, went to the couch, and sat down. I was just about to ask him if we needed anything else before the game started when…
B, while standing: “Wait, I forgot something.”
He then walked over to our pile of paper to burn, selected a large piece of cardboard box, and sat back down on the couch with the cardboard on his lap.
H: “What is that for?”
B: “For the game.”
H: “Why in the world do you need a piece of cardboard for the game? I just grabbed paper towels for the tacos.”
B: “No it’s a box. Because they’re the Packers.”
B: “They pack…”
H: “No, I got it. Oh my God… we need beer now.”
While he did have a point, it would’ve been even better if he had grabbed a sausage or a can of meat, since the team was named after a meat-packing company, not just a packing company. But then that would’ve opened up way too many jokes about German sausages, and canned meat is one of those things that just probably shouldn’t exist anyway. Eek.