Yesterday was the Superbowl. I know this because I went grocery shopping yesterday and there were no nachos left on the shelves. There were also no men at the gym. The ones that were there were immediately placed in my “not a chance” folder. While I personally don’t watch football, I love men that do. Being able to know what nights I have to myself is a huge deal. No guesswork. Sundays and Mondays I get to do girl stuff.

But I’ve written about the relationship between men, women and sports before, and it’s tired. Men love to talk about it, because they will do anything to talk about sports. Late last night, after the game, I was chatting with a male friend of mine. Rewind. I actually texted him during the 4th quarter with something completely mundane. I got a very rapid “Do not text me until the game is over” response. Oops. My bad.

When I was granted permission to speak, I started asking him about the food at his superbowl party. He had, among other delicious tasting superbowl fare, chicken curry with rice and a creamy mac and cheese. My stomach roared with jealousy. What the hell? I didn’t realize football had gotten so delicious. It’s rare that pass up a good nacho with cheese and chili, but I wouldn’t watch football just to get some. But chicken curry? Who cooked this to begin with?

I told him I planned on getting into sports watching, just so I could have an excuse to eat the delicious food. I asked him if the upcoming Olympics counted as an opportunity to have a party with chicken curry. He said “hockey yes, figure skating no”.