Friday, February 18, 2011
The Widow Season
When I started dating Mims, I thought I had struck gold. I thought we were a match made in heaven. He loved all the sports I loved. Our first date was in early December 1998. Football was just getting cranked up. We watched all the games. Every week. Made friendly bets against one another. Whooped and hollered in front of the television together for hours. College, Professional, we watched it all. I was so happy to have finally found someone who loved football as much as I did.
End of January rolls around, and football is done. I know there will be a lull. But by the first of February, I know Spring Training for baseball starts. I can make it until then.
But somewhere in between, it happened. Mims started to morph a whole different personality. He started breaking out all of these tee-shirts. And they all had the same man on them. And it was not Mims. His name was Earnhardt. Dale Earnhardt Sr. to be more precise. He started posting these crazy looking schedules on his refrigerator. And mine. Putting check marks and stars next to certain dates. The HOT races, he called them. I was soon to discover, that Nascar would take over our lives.
I'll admit, you would be hard pressed to get me to go much of anywhere when the post season of baseball comes around. I am going to watch the playoff games and pick someone to root for in the World Series. Always. And when football season comes along, I will be watching the Super Bowl with the how ever many other millions of people in America. But I do have a life. I do go places. And I will carry on a conversation if someone is talking to me.
Lawd have mercy.....when Nascar season begins in February.....you had better said your last important word until mid November. There is no talking during a race. Well, you can talk, but he is not listening. There will be no shopping trips that include Mims, unless it is a weekend with no race. If you have any functions to attend, you'd best be hiring you an escort. For you will have no husband. You will know when he is hungry. That is it. And he will eat whatever you serve him, in his chair. In front of the television. For projects you need help with, you'd better already have them done come racing season.
I've gotten used to it for the most part. Until it gets warm enough for fishing. That is when we are going to have a problem. That is when the problems always start. Because Mims puts ME on a schedule. Whatever the schedule is for a race, we have to be home an hour before. So he can shower and clean up, before the race starts.
I don't care if we are reeling fish in by the bucket load. It's like an alarm goes off in his body. And once he says, get the poles rolled up...it's on. And you'd better be gettin' rolled up too, son. Cause you drag round' getting your stuff put up...and that boat takes off..your pole will be out of your hands and half way across the lake. Before you ever knew what happened. He will jetson that boat back to the landing like it had nitrous oxide hooked up to the engine. You'll feel like you're in the water version of Pinks. He does not play.
And once that boat is pulled up to the dock, to load onto the trailer. You'd better get out of the way. And heaven forbid, we get back to the landing and someone else is already trying to load or unload. I have seen the look on his face. The one that resembles a crazy man who is willing to leave his boat right there, and come back and get it. Later. Because he does not have time to wait.
Truck races, Nationwide, Nascar, or goats. Mims is watching. The season officially began tonight. In Daytona. While I am talking to you, he is SLEEPING through the truck race. But never you doubt. Were I to move ONE INCH, to touch that remote, and change the channel.......there would be an all out alert. He will jump ten feet in the air and his arms will begin to flail. Fighting the person who was crazy enough to mess with him and his race. And I am likely to lose a hand or get an eye put out.
I sure hope you all like listening to me talk. You don't know me near as good as you think you do. Not near as good as you're going to know me. And it's a long time til' mid November.