My friend Judi and I talk every couple weeks. She lives in Arlington Heights, IL, where I once lived years ago. In fact, she’s lived in the same house since the early 1970s while I have had myriad address changes in the same amount of time. But we’ve always kept in touch.
Tonight we were catching up, and I recalled how Judi and her husband Hugh used to have Super Bowl parties when the concept was novel, the teams were less hyped, and the commercials weren’t what people tuned in for.
One thing led to another, and the bottom line is that Judi and Hugh are joining Earl and me for a Super Bowl party at our house on February 4. It won’t be exactly like old times (See previous paragraph). But it will suit us.
I’ll be three weeks into radiation, so I could fall asleep in the middle of a touchdown. Or burn the casserole. Or, worse yet, spill my drink. But these are dear friends who will forgive me.
The only thing I should probably check on is what team they are rooting for; although since the Chicago Bears haven’t been anywhere near a Super Bowl since 2006 it could be a moot point.
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