Super Klutz
At the end of the first quarter, with the Chiefs and Eagles tied at one touchdown apiece, Christina got up from the couch and announced that she had decided to take a bath.
“I have enough time before halftime, right? I wanna see Rihanna.”
“You’ve got plenty of time,” I said. “Each NFL-minute is the equivalent of five Earth-minutes.”
Christina went to the back of the house, leaving me and Mortimer alone in the living room. Little did Christina know that leaving the two of us unsupervised would prove to be a really bad idea.
At first, I tried to focus on the game. But that was difficult because Mortimer wouldn’t shut up about his Puppy Bowl glory days. Eventually, though, the edibles I had eaten earlier kicked in. Mortimer’s bragging faded into the background. The game faded into the foreground. And my mind drifted to some of the deeper questions raised by watching the Super Bowl broadcast.
Did anyone watching the Super Bowl broadcast actually …
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