Anyone who knows me well knows how much I love the Tour de France. I mean in a real over-the-top kind of way. Left to my own devices and no pressing deadlines, I could watch it three or four times a day. With pressing deadlines, I’ll watch pieces of it three times a day – breakfast, lunch, and bedtime. Yeah, it’s that bad.
But wait it gets better. Last week at the concert in the park (a summer ritual for our family), my sister announced to her friend, “She likes to watch those guys butts when they cycle up the Alps.” Thanks Jane, TMI!
I met my oldest nephew O’Neill’s new girlfriend that night, too. She enthusiastically stated, “I watch the Tour with my brother and my dad!” I shook her hand and told him, “I approve O’Neill. You found a good one!”
My youngest nephew, Noah, watched the action with me again. We agreed that he’d visit it me during the Tour when I’m 80. He said he’d bring me red wine and gourmet treats. Perfect! He’s a fixie and a foodie. I’m grooming him to take care of me in my old age!
I actually entered the Versus Fantasy League. I even fill in the Cadillac Word of the Day online. (Hey, I’ll do anything for a Cervelo.)
Last night, I asked 734’s Dad what time he had to get up for work. I was so fixated on when I could actually start watching the Tour without disturbing him (though he loves it, too). He answered with a smart response, “I’m either getting up at 6:23 or 7:34.” “Which?” I asked. He repeated it matter-of-factly two more times…before I realized he was jerking my chain … make that chain ring.