Yep, it’s supposed to be a doozy too. It’s so big, a lot of people are having parties just to watch it.
The Boy and I are no different. As long as your definition of party involves my parents and Gma coming over to watch the first half and then leave because they’re old and don’t like to stay out too late. In that case, we’re rocking it.
I’m going to make nachos and cake pops. Maybe some pimento cheese because we’re southern. It’s probably the best Big Football Game Party (much like Lord Voldemort, you’re not supposed to refer to it by name) that you’re not invited to.
I mean, you can come if you want.
It’s just going to be a bunch of old people and me drinking beer and frozen wine and a couple puppies*. And cake pops. So, I guess that makes it worth it. Just know, if you do come, I won’t have enough chairs. So, BYOC.
*We will NOT be drinking the puppies, people. Come on. That’s just weird. And mean. I’m just trying to say there will be puppies at the party. Two. And an old fat beagle named Bunny. And The Boy. And Me. And Nane and Papa. And Gma. I think that covers it.