So, I just have to share this. My husband does not understand or appreciate American Football. He’s a huge European football fan but just doesn’t get “hand-egg” (as he calls it). So, in general, he couldn’t care less about the Superbowl. I, on the other hand, love football. I love football so much I am a completely unabashed and unapologetic Arizona Cardinals fan. Oh yeah, that’s right kids, Mommy is hardcore. I was very excited about the Superbowl for two reasons: I adore Eli Manning, I think he’s just the cutest thing, and I despise the Patriots and Tom Brady in particular. Ugh. I hate everything about him, from his super douchy hair to his supermodel wife. I don’t know what it is, but Tom Brady and Tony Romo both inspire absolutely irrational hatred in me. But I digress.
So, I was watching the pregame and I realized that Husband was in the kitchen doing the dishes. Then, at kickoff, I let him know the game was starting. So he eventually wandered his way out to living room and proceeded to fold three loads of clean laundry and ignore the TV. Which is when I realized exactly what was happening…
Once, about a year ago, once of my friends said something about our marriage to the effect that Husband was the bitch and I was the butch in our relationship. And everyone agreed. Except for Husband, of course.
So I’m sitting on my couch, watching football, while he folds laundry and does the dishes. Aaaaand he wonders why people think I wear the pants in the family? Maybe it’s just that I’m a big tomboy and Husband has spent way too much time living in Europe, so he doesn’t get this whole American Machismo thing. Whatever, I still laughed my ass off and told him to fold the laundry like a good little wife. And promptly reminded him that he was my bitch.