Watch football, even though football is my least favorite sport, and I don’t even like my favorite sport that much. Football is Robert’s favorite sport, and he’s a guy who will watch the championship of just about anything (golf, tennis, hot dog eating), so that’s saying a lot. I didn’t realize I was committing to a lifetime of tolerating big games, by the way, because Robert hid his fandom from me for at least the first two years of our relationship. He will deny this. I think it was probably unintentional, because he knew you win over English majors by talking about books, not sports, and he’s really good at both.
Pretend we don’t know any Beyonce songs, when really we know lots of Beyonce songs.
Eat barbecued pork ribs and caramel popcorn with bacon even though all our party guests are Jews or vegetarians or Jewish vegetarians. Don’t worry, we provided lots of non-pork meats and non-meat eats because we are not the worst hosts in the world. Also, Robert grilled the the porks and nonporks even though the temperature has been hovering around 15 degrees all day because Robert swore he’d grill year-round when he talked me into buying our Weber last December.
Bet on opposing teams, because a little competition is good for any relationship and somebody should end up unhappy. We share a bank account, so our betting currency is massages and milk shakes. I lost and I’m pissed, not because I care about the 49ers, but because I wanted that 20 minute massage, and now I have to give it instead.
Watch our corgi run laps up and down the hallway in lieu of the Puppy Bowl because we don’t have cable. Here is a picture.