Ahhh, remember Sunday mornings before the season started?
Back in the glorious days when Sunday Funday meant:
But now, it has been deduced to just this:
When he can have friends over, but you can't.
And the subway has limited service, or it's freezing outside, and you quickly become a lazy prisoner.
And you're high maintenance because chicken wings and beer don't make you completely happy.
But it's okay! Somebody's girlfriend is coming too, so you can bake cookies or get your nails done or do some other obnoxiously gendered activity!
You could literally be next to him on the couch, naked, and he wouldn't see you.
You try to be attentive and sensitive... "Oh no, babe, your team lost?"
"Oh wait—your team won, but you lost in fantasy? You are IMPOSSIBLE."
"Seriously? You know the fourth string quarterback's name, but you can't remember my best friend?"
"WHAT?!?! THIS EXTENDS PAST SUNDAY?"
And he tries to "include" you by delegating the task of choosing game picks for the week. Teamwork!
Because it'll spark an immediate vested interest in the events of the day, and you'll WANT to follow all bajillion games! Right?
Wrong—but for the rest of the day, you will be addressed like a cute, completely unknowledgable puppy with phrases like "I'm so proud of you! You're the best at picks!" and "Aww, my little secret weapon."
But at some point, it's your turn to pick the show—which he pretends to hate.
And then the order of the universe is restored. Until next week.
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