Last weekend I uttered three little words to Chad that I never thought I’d say to a man. Or to anyone, honestly.
We had just wrapped up our second day hiking with the dogs during our pets-included stay at Cacapon Resort State Park.
The first afternoon and evening were spent exploring the trails around the lodge, and the next checking out the historic town of Harpers Ferry.
Given Moo’s attitude around other animals, our excursion wasn’t exactly stress-free — every other dog owner in the universe seemed to have similar plans — but it was an adventure in its own right, and we were all pleasantly exhausted when we got back to our room.
So, it could have been the satisfying tiredness that comes from physical exertion — and that amazing feeling you get when you finally stop to rest — doing the talking.
Or maybe it was the coziness of our accommodation, with its comfy blankets and memory foam beds.
Perhaps it was gratitude for putting up with my crazy furkids and all their (sometimes frustrating) quirks.
Most likely, it was all those good things put together — and before I even knew what had happened, my mouth opened up and the words popped out.
“Wanna watch football?”
I tell you, in all my years, this is the one sentence I never — and I mean never — thought would pass through my lips.
Wait, did you think it was going to be something else?
Anyway, there I was, on vacation no less, welcoming the idea of spending a precious night alive watching sports on TV.
And not only did I give it the OK, I suggested it.
I hope all those residents of hell had a sweater and coat handy.
In fairness, my tolerance for the game had begun a few weeks prior when, while on another getaway, Chad used his control of the remote to settle on a college match-up.
I don’t recall the teams — and truthfully I never care — but for some reason, when he started to explain the rules to me, I decided to actually listen.
He wasn’t wearing his magic hat at the time — that would have been weird, since we were inside, with pajamas on — but apparently its enchantment remained in effect. Particles of it have probably sunken into his pretty skull at this point.
Whatever the reason, I was intrigued. Or, at least, not bored.
Fast forward a bit, and while I’m still far from being an expert, watching doesn’t seem like pure torture anymore.
Rather, it feels like yet another way to enjoy some time together. A means to relax and tune out with one another after a long day of activity.
Of course, I mostly just cheer when someone makes it into the colored part of the field, carrying the ball — I’m not exactly up on the nuances so far.
But who knows? Watch enough games together and I may be moved to speak a different weighty three-word phrase.
“Two point conversion.”
“Line of scrimmage.”
“Ice. The. Kicker.”
Now that’s love.
Katie McDowell is the managing editor and lifestyles columnist for The Dominion Post. Email email@example.com