super bowl XLVI, parisian style - part one

TGIF, travelers! Our brains are fried, it’s true. It’s been a long week but now: a long weekend! THE JOY! The wino is playing hostess with the mostest, while the romantic just may start packing up their apartment. Never mind that they’re (hopefully) signing a lease for April 1: girl needs over a month to pack this much stuff.

ANYWAY. To take the Friday pressure off our broken brains, hubs is here to save the day! Enjoy!

———————————————————————————————————

It was completely by accident that we ended up watching the New York Giants win the Super Bowl live at 12:30 am Monday morning at an Irish Pub with three drunk Mexicans, two wasted French college guys, and an over-zealous Tim Tebow fan… in Paris.

Going back a few months, our first anniversary was coming up in September, and I thought I had nailed it. By August, I had saved up for plane tickets and put together an itinerary for a quick trip to the Romantic’s favorite place: Paris. Sticking with the theme of paper for first anniversary gifts, I cobbled together a little package that I was sure would surprise her. The plan was in motion and we’d be in the city of love in early February.

The romantic’s gift to me is on the left; my Parisian project is on the right

So, why February? Because I know the Romantic. She HATES February. She dreads it starting in November and reflects on how bad it was in March. We brace ourselves each winter day for the walk to the subway (typically a frigid, wind-fueled expedition), black ice, and extremely cold/cranky/depressed New Yorkers.

Basically: February is miserable, so why not lift my wife’s spirits in the midst of the winter doldrums with a visit to her favorite city? And as I predicted, she loved the whole plan. On September 18, we officially started the countdown to our trip.

A few months later, when we were home for the holidays, we excitedly discussed our plans for our short winter trip to Paris. We talked about all the macarons we would eat, all the wine we would drink, and how maybe – just maybe – we’d get to see the city under a little snow. My dad, the one who instilled in me the importance of bleeding blue and red, first raised the real issue.

“What time is your flight home? Will you be back in time for the Super Bowl?”

Needless to say, this was how I learned that I had completely overlooked this egregious scheduling conflict. Oh well, I told myself, the only way I’d REALLY care was if my team–the Giants–were playing, but things were looking bleak (16^th best, per ESPN).

Fast forward to January, when my Giants were playing great and knocking off some of the best teams in the league. I REALLY cared. The Romantic saw all of this unfolding, and she totally played me. We decided together that if the Giants made it to the big game, we’d extend our short weekend trip by one day, and see what it’s like to watch the Super Bowl in Paris.

Well, wouldn’t you know, the Romantic became one of the biggest sports fans I’ve ever seen those last few weeks. She was wearing an Eli Manning jersey. She was acting superstitious (“Did you wear that shirt last week when they won? No? Go change! What are you thinking?!”). She may have even developed a (slight) crush on Victor Cruz whenever he did his touchdown salsa dance. It was uncanny.

She even made sure Parker Pug was always showing his support.

I give her a lot of credit, because she practically willed the team to pull off a bunch of unlikely wins in a row, earning them an invitation to the big game in Indianapolis against the New England Patriots. As promised, we extended our trip and made plans to tune in at 12:30AM Monday morning in Paris. I think Giants fans everywhere owe the Romantic’s love of Paris a big thanks, because I honestly don’t know if they could have done it without her.