Of Her and Football

At some point during our pre-bedtime pillow talk the missus asked me whether football matches were more interesting in comparison to herself. It was obvious that I had to answer that she was by a mile more interesting than any football match in the history of mankind, however I also felt compelled to defend my most beloved sport so I tried to buy some time by inquiring why she entertained such ghastly notion in her head.

After taking a deep breath and exhaled it loudly in exasperation, which was a clear sign of incoming feud, she proceed with a narration of a certain event that happened earlier in the evening. She described how I went home looking tired so after shower and dinner I went straight to bed. Since it was only shortly after 8, she demanded to have a decent conversation which, from her point of view, I failed to supply, being so drowsy. Yet, she continued, I managed to wake up and concentrate fully on a football match sometime at 9. That, she concluded, was why she entertained such a ghastly notion in her head.

My defense began by pointing out the football and herself were two things so irrelevant to be put on the comparison scale that the mere effort to compare them would cause fallacy in logical thinking. The comparison itself was so prone to bias and subjectivism that to provide unbiased and objective answer would be virtually as impossible as asking a vampire to be a vegetarian. Plus I had not done enough research to support the finding of something remotely resembling a definitive answer. Regardless of all the impossibilities, it was also rather unfair to compare one’s wife, a soulmate, a companion for life, to a sport so harsh yet curiously joyful to watch. As I paused before launching more of this barrage of bullcrap, I heard the sound of regular breathing. My wife, my soulmate and companion for life, had fallen asleep.

This morning when I woke up, I heard her humming as she prepared my breakfast. She had had her revenge. Things were back to normal.