Last night, the Brewer's clinched their division. Now, if you are like me, that doesn't mean much--it means that the wife's team won an important game. If you are the wife, it is like the baby Jesus swooped down upon her and bestowed sainthood on the family.
I thought she was going to implode while watching the game, as it was the last game of the series and ended up going into extra innings. I was fearful for her well being. Thankfully, MJagger stopped by and distracted the wife from certain doom. (Due to MJagger's presence, the wife did not cry as she usually would.)
Right after the game ended, the wife began fretting about tickets for the Sunday home opener. To me, this was a no brainer--she loves going to baseball games, this hasn't happened since 1982, she has been super-excited about the season--well, all season. I guess I am a "what are you waiting for?" kind of gal" and thus if it were me, I'd buy the ticket and go. What's to think about? Well, the poor wife hemmed. She hawed. She fretted. She spoke aloud. She paced. She hemmed and hawed some more. She looked miserable. She studied the internet. She checked out seat availability and prices. She had three browsers open at the same time. As she couldn't read the small print on the stadium map (time for bifocals, young lady!), she had me pointing out sections on the map as she called the numbers out.No brainer! There can't even have a rain out, since the stadium has a roof. It's meant to be. SHE.MUST.BE.THERE!
Suffice it to say, she now has plenty to worry about. What to wear. What time to get there. Who to ride with. Take her rally towel or leave it home. How to keep track of the Packers score which overlaps with the Brewer game. What to do when they win. What to do if, heaven forbid, they lose.
Bring on the racing sausages, boys and girls. The wife is in the playoffs.
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