We went to a party on Saturday Night for a friend of Amy’s from work. (In my efforts to demonstrate that not all the parties we go to anymore involve a child and their birthday, I have been calling it an "Adult Party" but somehow that description has seemed a little too kinky. I think that I should just call it a 40th birthday party and let people think what they will about it.) The party had a "Dress Up As Your Favorite Celebrity" theme and Amy went as Angelina Jolie, while I was costumed as a fat Brad Pitt. We didn’t do quite as much leg work on the costumes as we should have, as Amy’s tattoos paled in comparison to the other Angelina Jolie in attendance. Needless to say, I was the fattest Brad Pitt there though, so that was nice.
At the party, Vivian, the newly crowned 40 year old who looked like she was in her twenties, was resplendently dressed as Audrey Hepburn. Her dog, either Marco or Polo, I cannot remember which, saw the great opportunity use the occasion to eat lots of people food. He sidled up next to everyone eating the amazing food that Tam, Vivian’s husband and ridiculously talented chef, prepared for the event. The dog never lunged, but would just sit next to the eater and keep both eyes on the food, hoping that one or two bites would accidentally fall to the ground. The persistent and desperate look in the dog’s eye seemed to indicate that the dog’s soul desire in life was to get some of that food, as if the dog was always thinking, "Can I have some food? Can I have some food? Can I have some food?" I felt kind of sorry for the dog, as it was never able to enjoy the party. It just kept finding people who were wolfing down the vittles and wondering, "Can I have some food? Can I have some food? Can I have some food?"
So, it came as a great surprise to me when I was perched at a bar the next morning watching my fantasy football team get clobbered, when I realized that I was no better than the Marco/Polo. I would glance at each of the games that I had a player in and I would think to myself, "Score a touchdown! Score a touchdown! Score a touchdown!" I had totally lost the ability to enjoy the game, I would just focus on my individuals and beg for them to make a big play. It’s going to be a long year, and I will find myself in the same spot making the same desperate request, "Score a damn touchdown already!" Maybe I am a dog after all, or maybe I am way too into fantasy football. Either way, I figure at the very least that I am not attending kinky adult parties or, worse yet, children’s birthdays, so that is nice.
Tags: fantasy football
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