I’m still trying to soothe a bitter heart over the last second goal scored by Portugal in yesterday’s World Cup match. I realize that 99% of the people reading this morning probably don’t care about soccer or the Cup but it is such a huge part of my childhood that I am compelled to come here this morning and mope aloud at how we were thiiiiiiiiiis close to winning the game and blew it. And while a tie isn’t blowing it per se and there’s still a good chance that the US will advance (with a win or draw against Germany – you are going to watch, aren’t you?) but we could have put it away had we held on for mere seconds longer.
I need a few more cathartic screams.
The kids have been slightly amused at seeing their mother yell like a maniac, pace the floor, and jump up and down but they’ve gotten into the games even though they can’t understand a word the announcers are saying. I’ve insisted we watch the matches in Spanish because a) that’s how I was raised, b) it sounds more exciting, and c) everyone knows it’s not a real point until the announcers scream and stretch the word “GOOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!” for five hundred forty-seven minutes.
The boys may also officially love soccer because I let them eat off paper plates in the living room in front of the TV while the evening game is played.
In non-soccer related news, I suffered a workplace injury last week and I’m telling you all about it so you, too, can escape the danger presented by handling the incredible, edible egg.
Yep, was sporting a little Fat Albert look for a couple of days after burning my lower lip biting into a boiled egg that I’d reheated in the microwave on 50% power for a mere 40 seconds. It was so barely lukewarm to the touch that I briefly considered putting it back in for another minute but decided to eat it anyway because I didn’t really care how cold it was and when I bit the end off, it released a burst of superheated vapor trapped between the yolk and the white and my lip was instantly like Melanie Griffith’s after one-too-many visits to her dermatologist for plumpers.
So, that was, um, attractive and NOT AT ALL PAINFUL and I hid at home for a couple of days and drank milkshakes through a straw and rolled my eyes at the utter ludicrosity (is that a word? I don’t think so but I’m leaving it in) of the situation that I’d been felled by food.
On the bright side, I lost two pounds.
Have a nice day.