Hey, didja hear? Indianapolis is hosting the SuperBowl this year. If you've been living under a rock, you haven't heard. If you've been living anywhere in the United States, you are probably aware. If you are living in the Indianapolis area, you have heard about this nonstop for the last 60 days. (Not even kidding. Since before Christmas!) And this evening, my family is heading downtown to see what all the hoopla is about.
I'm looking forward to it. I know that the city has worked hard and planned for years to make everything slick and smooth. My youngest son--our resident Giants fan--is just about out of his tiny, little mind with excitement. Guess how many times I've had to wash his #10 jersey since the Giants clinched the title? He's pretty much wearing it every other day. When we mentioned that we were heading down to the SuperBowl Village, it was like his birthday and Christmas all rolled up into one shiny expensive package.
The plan is to see the Village. The plan is to head to the NFL Experience. The plan is to gaze at the big XLVI on The Circle. The plan is to watch the lucky ducks on the zipline and wish that we had tickets. Oh, yes. All of that.
But my plan is to find Jimmy Fallon. Because I love him in a totally sane, non-weird, unstalkerish sort of way. And when I do, I will yell:
Jimmy! I think you ah wicked Ahhhsome!
And then, because my plan is also part fantasy, he will have never heard that before in his life, he will find it incredibly droll and amusing, and he will yell back:
No, YOU ah!
And then I can die happy. The end.
