Before I begin writing today’s blog, I need to report that the guy who lives on the block behind my house was just using a hockey stick to sweep the sidewalk in front of his house. Honestly, truly, I am not making that up. Hockey fans are weird.
Speaking of weird, I must make a confession. No, it’s not that, although after going more than ten years without a certain something that most married people experience at least once a week, there are times where even turning to the other side seems better than a cold shower. No, it’s not that I am a Cubs fan. I will never, ever, be tempted to go to the dark losing side. My veins will always run red, as in winning Cardinal red.
This really isn’t that weird or even weird at all, unless you are my wife who indeed thinks that I am very weird for liking what I like. What is it you say? Spit it out?
I am a Walking Dead fan.
There. I said it.
This week’s episode inspired me. I will never eat spaghetti the same way again. After the last two weeks, I am very creeped out by the place our heroes and heroines have landed — new Alexandria, where they have cleaned up and are being forced to live among the overly washed. What I am truly afraid of is that a major character or characters is going to be killed off. Who will it be? Tough and vulnerable Daryl, who was just tamed by spaghetti? Creepy Carol, who just bullied a potential young snitch who was threatening to rat on her, all in the name of cookies? Hard a@@ed Michonne, whose soft side is beginning to show (and such a nice soft side it is)? Rick (no way)? Judith? Carl? Glenn? Maggie? Sasha? I will cry myself to sleep should any one of those characters be relegated to worm food status. Abraham and his girl friend can go, as well as Mister Mullet.
It’s just that important to me.
No, I will not seek professional help, even if a Star Wars or Star Trek fanatic gives me a good reference.