There’ll be no talking till American Idol’s on
Glenwood Springs, CO Colorado
“Zzzzztttt!” Husband-Head hissed as he put his thumb and forefinger together in a circle while watching the Green Bay Packers playing on a recent Sunday afternoon. “There will be no more talking unless it’s a commercial or until I tell you it’s OK – got it?”
But even though – in his mind – it was an important football game, this little rule did not sit so well with me.
“You can’t tell me not to talk!” I protested. “I’m allowed to say stuff if I want to!” Husband-Head rolled his eyes.
“This is football,” he sighed and explained, as if speaking to a child. “It is very important. I need to keep track of the scores and the players. I didn’t say you couldn’t talk at all. I just meant that you should be quiet during the game and should speak only during the commercials.”
So basically, this gave me a window of about two minutes between every quarter of the game. “Honey, let’s talk about our relationship,” I will typically suggest, just to get a reaction and see what he will do.
And typically, he will completely ignore me and instead demand another beer.
“Sssshhhh,” Husband-Head will hiss. “You stifle!”
But the idea of Husband-Head telling me when I could or couldn’t talk during a football game was rather irritating.
So I decided to get back at him in the only way I knew how.
“Joy to the World, it’s almost done!” I sang, changing the words to the classic Christmas carol. “Make football…go AWAY!”
Husband-Head was not amused.
“STOP it!” he cried. “I don’t like that it’s almost over.”
I responded by doing my own version of a touchdown end zone dance to show my excitement at the looming end of the season.
“When it’s all over, you can’t tell me to be quiet on Sundays anymore!” I said with delight as I danced around the living room.
Husband-Head just stared at me.
“Being quiet is really not an odd request,” he informed me. “One of my fraternity brothers in college is the nephew of Charleton Heston and he did the same thing.”
“He danced around the living room?” I asked in surprise.
“No. But he said Uncle Chuck wouldn’t talk to anyone on Sundays and no one was allowed to talk to him,” Husband-Head informed me. I was more intrigued that anyone referred to Charleton Heston as “Uncle Chuck.” …
Nevertheless, I was still excited that football season was almost over, which meant that Husband-Head would not be holed up in his playhouse and glued to the TV on Sundays, Mondays and Thursdays.
“And when football is over, you know what that means!” I cried out joyously. “DOO-doo, DOO-doo, doo-DOOOO!”
Husband-Head was not thrilled to hear me singing the “American Idol” theme song..
“Aren’t you sick of that show yet?” he asked incredulously. “It’s been on for nearly 10 years now.”
“Nope,” I said honestly. “Aren’t you sick of NFL football yet? It’s been on since the 1920s!”
I get excited about American Idol for two reasons. One is that it means that spring is on its way. The other is that, unlike football, American Idol actually involves the audience and allows them to participate in the whole voting process during the competition.
“This was what the women’s suffrage movement in the 1920s was all about!” I pointed out to Husband-Head. “I know it was a little before their time, but I really think women just wanted to be able to vote for the next American Idol!”
Husband-Head just looked at me as if I’d gone mad.
“I don’t care who you vote for,” he said honestly. “As long as you keep quiet while there’s a football game on television. …”
That didn’t seem to be in the true Christmas spirit to me.
“The holy people didn’t tell anyone to be quiet,” I challenged Husband-Head.
“No, they didn’t have to,” he agreed. “They just did this.”
With that, he put his thumb and his forefinger together.
Heidi Rice is a reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. Visit her website at http://www.heidirice.com to read more columns or to buy her book collection “Skully Says Shut It!”
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