I have these two friends. One I've known since college, and the other is the dad of Robert's friend Erin. Outwardly, they don't have much in common. One is a career bachelor who runs marathons and wears lots of black turtlenecks and distressed denim; the other has a shiny forehead and a paunch and pretty much looks like someone's dad. They do, however, have three very important traits in common:
- they give less than a shit about football;
- they both rode the corporate gravy train to the Super Bowl in Detroit for a weekend of swag-soaked hedonism; and
- they met each other for the first time and had a nice chuckle over the random irony of life--more specifically, how it turned out that they were there and I was here.
I, on the other hand, learned a valuable lesson that I'd like to pass on to posterity: When your favorite team is playing in the Super Bowl, it is not a good idea to host a gathering in which the adults are outnumbered by children under 4. Because you spend less time appreciating the game and more time cleaning up after your child after he synthesizes two types of toothpaste and some handsoap into a super-adhesive polymer and coats the entire bathroom floor with it.
