Daniel is spending today at the Diamondbacks game with his mom and brothers and brothers-in-law to celebrate his Mom's birthday. They gave her a Momma and the Boys night. I don't know how crazy she is about baseball, but Daniel says she'll enjoy it because they enjoy it and they'll make it fun for her. What a sweetheart to spend her birthday present doing something they like more than she does! This is where his mom and I differ.
I love Daniel. If he ever needs a kidney, I'm there. If he ever takes a dream job that requires us to move anywhere in the world, I'll pack up the house and learn a new language. I'll complain for a few weeks first, but I'll go and be supportive. For his birthday last night, we went to a Brazilian all-you-can-eat barbecue restaurant, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to start sweating meat any minute now. There's meat in my pores. The place reminds Daniel of his time in Brazil, so I am happy to sit there, knowing my week of keeping careful track of what I eat and trying to shed this baby weight will be obliterated in one hour as food parades by my table on swords. I very nearly dodged a meat coma. Basically, I'll do anything he asks of me, with a notable exception.
I hate baseball. So sue me.
As his birthday draws nearer (it's tomorrow), Daniel's started dropping "subtle" hints about how he would love to take Sam and me to a baseball game. My response is "I'll pack the diaper bag with plenty of bottles and scrapbook while you two are gone. Have a great time and don't let her get beaned with a foul ball."
If you like baseball, more power to you. I'm not trying to change your mind. It's just that I, personally, would rather watch grass grow than watch baseball. At least the snacks would be cheaper.
There is no point in making a bunch of comments about "America's game...blah blah blah....favorite pastime...blah blah blah...smell of the grass...blah blah blah." If those arguments had an iota of efficacy with me, Daniel would have won me over years ago. He even tried going after my weakness, to zero avail--I can get Cracker Jack at the grocery store, and hot dogs are just as good at Costco, plus they cost about a million dollars less.
On top of being insanely boring, you can't even zone out and read at a game because depending on where you are sitting, you could get hit with a stray ball. If I did get hit, Daniel would be mad I didn't catch it (because I never catch anything that's thrown at me), so I'd have a concussion and he'd be bummed out that we can't take the ball home. I don't understand why Daniel thinks it would be fun to go with someone who is completely miserable. I like going to the Suns all right, and I like football games (which are unfortunately all on Sundays, and please note I said football, not the Cardinals), but he's always pushing the baseball. I think he has this idea in his head that I will go and be smitten by the Americaness of it all and love it forever. Has he even met me?
I'll pass.
The last game I went to was while we were dating. Haha, bait and switch! (I'm just kidding, I complained my head off then too) Anyway, I kept myself occupied by counting how many times Steve Finley adjusted himself during every at bat. If you think I am joking, the record was 9. Mr. Classy isn't on the team anymore, and even when he was, my disgust kept me just one small step above clinical insanity. If there had been extra innings (which should be banned as a form of torture), I would have literally died of boredom.
So, yes, Daniel, I love you, and want you to have a happy birthday. There is an awesome present wrapped and waiting for Sunday. You are welcome to take our daughter to a game and try to raise her a baseball fan, I won't get in the way and force my personal anti-baseball beliefs on her. I won't even make comments under my breath about how they're all on 'roids when she's in the room. I promise. You can buy her a baby-sized hat, and I'll pay for the ticket.
Just please, please, please don't make me go. Wouldn't you rather have a kidney?
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