“Little Miss Babe [that’s what Mr Moi calls me], hurry up! We’re leaving in 20 minutes.”
I was greeted with these words this morning, while enjoying my blog visits with a ‘cup of joe’, as the Americans say.
“But I have to wash my haaaaiiirr,” I yelled back.
“You don’t have time,” was his rejoinder (wow, I finally got to use that word in a sentence).
Okay, okay, so where is this dialogue going?
I have a problem with Rugby. Hitherto in my life, autumn and winter (i.e. March to August) have ping-ponged between normal, everyday life, and weekend sporting hell. Because Mr Moi is a sports freak.
I don’t mind watching a few sports, but in winter, social activities are invariably organised around being in front of a telly at 2pm and 7pm on Saturdays and Sundays in order to catch the ‘kick-off’. Of what sport, it really doesn’t matter, but usually Aussie Rules or Rugby.
While somewhat painful, these fit nicely into my day – 2pm, I enjoyed some girl time, and 7pm we were socialising, so he had to miss out (on sport heh heh heh).
Now, flip those times to the opposite hemisphere halfway around the world, and you’ll understand why Mr Moi pushed me out the door with dirty hair at 9am this morning. We had to get to the pub to watch the Super 14.
And because we’re now in the Northern Hemisphere, and our friendly local Irish pub has Sky telly, I also get to watch the UK club rugby, the Six Nations, and the whole gamut of soccer: Premier League, UEFA Cup, UEFA Champions League and some other one, I’m sure.
We don’t have Sky telly. So unlike when Mr Moi watched these sports in Australia and I pottered around the house, in Kyiv, I have to join him in the smoky pub if I want to spend time with him on the weekend.
Now… Before you start commenting in the vein of, “Girl, you gotta set down some rulz for your man,” I’ll leave you with this thought.
I don’t work. It’s minus 15 outside. I watch TV all day. I have three English language channels that repeat all their content over and over again. And when they’ve done that, they repeat all the content backwards. To be honest, I don’t mind the sport.
I just wish I didn’t have to have it for brekky. With dirty hair.