Over the years I’ve noticed a disturbing trend. Whenever there’s a family celebration — particularly a celebration featuring food — I’m shipped out. Banished behind closed doors. Shut up in my crate. Shuttled over to Luz’s. It happens at Thanksgiving . . . and Passover . . . and July 4 barbecue . . . all the majors. The thinking seems to be “I don’t do
well around food.” If “not doing well around food” means I try to snag and gobble anything I can possibly reach, then yeah, I guess I don’t do well. Last night Beagle Man and the Mrs. were invited to a Super Bowl party at Jeff and Marybeth’s. Now while I may not have actually been to any of these, I’ve watched enough football commercials to know what you’re supposed to do: You drink Bud Light responsibly, and you eat chips & dip and buffalo wings and nachos and chili and pizza and everything else in the world that I’d give my right paw for. Of course I wasn’t brought along. But you know what? I saw this picture of the way B-Man was carrying on at the party, and I’m thinking maybe this time I was better off just hanging with Luz.
The Roof Rack Report (#roofrackreport on Twitter, for those who follow me already on @BeagleManHank) appears on Mondays, usually. It’s about politics, travel, food . . . important stuff like that.
Hahahahah! I was thinking about you two AND Ricky yesterday. We just weren’t quite into it this year. Nothing to do with teams, we just had to be up early on Monday so we were rather subdued on Sunday. So glad BMan got to wear his annual Super Bowl Get Up! Maybe the Cheesehead will show up next year. Do the Patriots have anything quite as dumb, I mean unsophisticated as your Jets????