Out for a meal tonight. It’s one of those fancy places with white linen on the table so wife insists I have to wear a real shirt and nothing with an Adidas or Nike logo visible. So ridiculous. Anyway, all going well until, halfway through the main course, she catches me trying to send a text with the Blackberry on my lap. She’s not pleased.
“Can you not for one hour forget the team?” she says.
“Why?” I ask, wondering what all the fuss is about.
“Because we are here in a nice restaurant having a wonderful meal and you are still thinking about the game tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the game,” I declare a little too confidently.
“Yes you were.”
“NO! I wasn’t.” Half the restaurant is looking at us now, witnessing my moment of triumph as I hold up the Blackberry to show her the text. She reads it and weeps.
“See, I was thinking about the pre-game breakfast. I just sent around some suggestions to the parents about proper carbo-loading for the boys given it's an 11.30am kick-off.”
She dashes off to the ladies’room, apparently disgusted, leaving me to reflect on just how self-absorbed she can be sometimes.
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