The Superbowl at our house

The Man just stopped home after delivering The Stepson (who got his driver's license last weekend, by the way - get off the roads of northeast Illinois) to his mother's home. He had stopped at his favorite watering hole to have a few and borrow some masking tape.

He came into the house quietly, just in case I had crashed on the couch, which is my habit on weekend afternoons. When he peeked around the corner to see that indeed, I was awake and rotting my brain with Food Network again, he begged for my help with a blue marker.



The stupid crap we do in this house.