As the housewife-in-chief and head of laundry at Casa Cunningham, I was recently alerted by my ever-lovin’ honey that in the course of excavating his closet, he found two t-shirts that absolutely, positively had to be washed right away. Time was of the essence, because these were vintage Nebraska basketball t-shirts, and we are headed to Nebraska next week for the final NU basketball game to be held at Bob Devaney Sports Center. Next year, they’ll move into their new arena in the Haymarket, where I’m told there are iPads on the backs of the bathroom stall doors, and the academic scholarship kid in me that never dies is pretty pissed off about it.
Anyway…Scott and I had many a fine date at Bob Devaney Sports Center watching the Huskers back in the early ’90s, he is still a big fan, and runs a bulletin board for the other 15 people who are aware that the Huskers do not only play football, and as soon as he heard that Devaney was going to be repurposed, he decided we should be at their final game there. I had no objection.
Until last night, as he was hanging up the t-shirts (because evidently, they need to be wrinkle-free before we fold them up and stick them in a suitcase), I commented that it was going to be cold in Lincoln. Because it’s March. Which, in Lincoln, can mean snow one day, 80° the next, and a blizzard the day after that. You can pretty much count on one last blizzard in Lincoln in March. It’s been cold here…the coldest winter I can remember in the 15 years I’ve lived here, and I am utterly sick of being chilled. That being the case, it is obvious that I am totally unprepared for any kind of real winter. That’s why I moved away from the Midwest; winter sucks, Raymond.
So Scott, being the helpful geek he is, whips out his phone to check the weather forecast for our hometown (it’s not really my hometown, but I lived there longer than any place I ever lived besides Tucson, so it’s the closest I’ve got), and announces, “I’ve got good news and bad news.”
“What’s the good news?”
“It’s going to be 46° on Sunday.”
“Yuck…is that the low or the high?”
“Jesus Christ…what’s the bad news?”
“Um…that’s as high as it’s going to be all week.” And then he showed me this:
And I responded the only way any sane person could under the circumstances: “Nooooooooooooooo!” said I, falling into an immediate funk. “I don’t even have clothes for that kind of weather anymore!” Seriously–my heaviest coat is a leather jacket that I wear only at night maybe 2 months of the year. I still have mittens and hats, but no heavy coat.
“But just think how nice it’ll be to come back home!” After years of being the world’s foremost pessimist, NOW he decides to be Mr. Silver Lining?
I’m gonna die, y’all. Speak well of me when I’m gone.