It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon in late September with the fresh, clean air of the early fall breathing comfort through the open living room window. He had just settled down in his usual front row recliner positioned so conveniently to optimize his view of the 42 inch high definition plasma screen. The anticipated arrival of this week’s ritual sparked a vigorous glow as he propped the bowl of Baked Lays on his lap. It could have been the confidence in his office pool picks or perhaps the excitement of the cross-state rivalry that naturally drew attention that had this moment feeling so grandiose. The autumn scented breeze gave a little reminder of the season as he leaned forward in his chair to watch the players line the field. The game for the ages was about to begin.

“Honey,” came that dear, familiar voice from the kitchen. She walked into the living room with her purse around her shoulder and the freshly clipped coupons in her hand. “Are you ready to go food shopping?”

He didn’t remember what he said, but he somehow had to concoct a believable story about his black eye. He cowered down the cereal aisle afraid to admit he forgot what her favorite brand was.