Is that French?
Today I dropped a few things off at the dry-cleaners and interacted with the owner beyond a “buenas tardes” for the first time ever. As he filled out my receipt, he asked my name and when, after attempting to spell it out to him to no avail and then writing it my damn self, he looked at me in all seriousness and said (in Spanish) “Is that French?”
Butterflies. Nothing makes me feel cooler than when someone mistakes me for French. Because I've never totally identified with my American-ness, with exception to my penchant for…
Football.
American football, to be precise.
I know the sport is barbaric. Frankly, I find it quite stupid. What is the point of wasting 3+ hours watching a group of industry-defined ‘athletes’ bashing into each other like bulls at top speed with the sole intention of stopping a ball? At whatever cost?
Men (can I call them men? Is a 23-year-old actually a “man” yet? I venture to say no.) risk injuries from a sprained pinky to brain trauma to capture a trophy, some record-breaking stats, retirement by the age of 30 and almost no life purpose thereon out beyond coaching, commentating, or opening up a cupcake shop.
To be honest, the NFL has coffered more guilt and anxiety in my gut over the last ten years than my relationship with my father (Sike, that’s a lie. His skills are beyond comparison) because I don’t want to miss a moment of a beautiful, sunny Sunday watching TV and I also don’t want to miss the game.
Because I like watching football.
It’s been a decade-long internal struggle. Do I stay and watch the game? Or do I go to the market/beach/brunch?
Over the years, I’ve opted more frequently for market/beach/brunch.
Then when the Super Bowl comes around, I feel sad. I don’t know the quarterbacks’ names, I don’t know star receivers. No one is familiar to me. Another season has slipped by and now I feel FOMO. I vow that next year, I’m going to pay more attention to the NFL.
Except I’m not. It’s time to let it go. Not totally, but in a way that makes it feel like less of an obligation. I’m not forcing myself to skip the market for a group of individuals that I have literally never interacted with once in my life and who don't even know that I, in all my fake-French glory, exist.
But if the stars align, and I’m free when a game is on, I’ll watch it!
With all that being said…
Go Chiefs.
(Who you got?)
With love,
Bethany
