Without doubt, Autumn is my absolute favorite time of year.
Thing 2 calls me “basic” because I love to wear sweaters and boots and jeans. She says my saving grace is that I don’t drink Starbucks.
I’m not “basic”. I’m just me.
For me fall is cool crisp air and being able to be outside without wanting to die. It is jeans and boots and sweaters. It’s driving with the windows down and being able to breathe without gasping.
Fall brings in the end of the beloved baseball season.
I feel rather sad about that because my Washington Nationals won’t be looking towards October without a miracle. Which is just going to have to be OK this season. Everyone on and off the DL, a bullpen that’s somehow lost it’s way. I love my team no matter what, but it just seems a shame they couldn’t get it together.
I know all sports seasons overlap. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
It really does irritate me that the ‘boys of summer’ can’t get off their diamond before the guys in shoulder pads and helmets take the gridiron.
I do not like American football. And it’s not just because I’m a girl, I know plenty of girls who live and die for football. I’m a Southern girl, but football isn’t my religion.
Thing C is a total football fanboy. His favorite team has fans that wear cheese on their heads. But it’s not just Packers games that he’s interested in. He follows all the teams, watches all the games.
He knows I am this meme.
So we negotiate television time during the fall and winter.
I don’t begrudge those who love the sport. I just choose to abstain. I honestly derive no joy from watching it. I’ve never seen people shout at their TVs more than during football season. And that’s saying a lot because I always holler at the baseball players.
It’s a matter of taste. What you like.
I like a spring and summer game that ends in October.
I like the weather Autumn brings.
I like to wear sweaters.
I like to play in the leaves.
I like scarecrows and pumpkin patches.
Autumn and I’ve come to a sort of agreement:
I leave football to the ones who love it. Who eat, sleep and breathe it.
I’ll eat chicken pot pie, sleep with the windows open, and breathe the cool crisp air.
And everybody’s happy.
Except the Nats.
It’s OK, boys, April is only seven months away.