Saturday morning I circled the soccer matches — “football” to my English husband — in the sports pages and wrote the channel numbers beside each. I was determined to forge a better day than Friday had been.
When Peter finally got up, the first game — ManU at Liverpool — was about to end. “This one’s nearly over,” he said, noting the score was nil-nil with seconds to go.
He nodded. “Fulham! Arsenal! Chelsea! Crystal Palace and Watford don’t have a chance.”
“Funny, you forget all sorts of things, but you don’t forget your football teams.”
“I don’t forget anything,” he said.
Hmm, I thought. How I wish that were true.