I'm sitting here at the Britannia Arms, known to locals as The Brit. I'm surrounded by rabid soccer fans, known to locals as middle-aged frat boys and foreigners, who are celebrating the victory of Real Madrid over Faux Madrid in the UEFA Champions League game. I believe UEFA stands for Under Extreme Facial Anxiety, based on the looks on many of my fellow patrons. It's a game folks, relax.
So why am I here in downtown San Jose on a Saturday afternoon when I could be at home cleaning the house or some other mind-numbing domestic chore? Because I'm PARENTING. The girl is currently gallivanting with the other weirdos "comfortable in their skin" at FanimeCon, and I've got another five hours or so left to kill until I might be able to tear her away. I was drawn to the Brit because as I was walking down Santa Clara Ave, I heard the ROAR of a crowd go up like a lion had just taken the head of some Christian. Good times!
"What is the commotion?" I said to myself. "I must investigate. Perhaps there's a bar fight, or some drunken college girl is stripping up on the bar."
Alas, it was only "sports." Rah.
Not one who is easily dismayed, I joined my fellow revelers at the bar to cheer on the day's sporting event. Just as I was getting comfortable, the clock ran out, Real Madrid was victorious, and the fans began to depart, leaving me nearly alone at the bar. It's just as well. Pulling out the laptop and my book likely would have resulted in an atomic wedgie had the real men stuck around.
And having wasted enough time on you, I will now enjoy my book. I hope I don't dreamily sigh too loudly. It is a romance novel after all.