By the time we got home, it was already fourth quarter. CU is playing another Friday night game. I wasn't facing the television in the restaurant, but I had been able to watch the updated scores on Twitter and still participate in dinner conversation. Our companions were a person we've known for decades, who is comfortable enough around us not to mind that I peeked at the score several times, and her beau who we had just met, but who fit in like we'd known him for ages. We lingered at the table, talking long after the check was signed and plates were cleared. Luckily our favorite restaurant is rarely packed to a mad crush, so we were able to stay without the wait staff shooing us out with a broom. (It doesn't seem to signal that the place is not destined to last long. It's been open for years and has the support of its sister restaurants and brewery parent. Plus the food is fantastic.) We have a little extra time to visit with our friends before they head back home. They are coming with us to the volunteer project tomorrow.
But now we are home, and I don't know how the game ended, or even whether it's over yet. I put Twitter away, crawled into bed with my crochet and my cat, and started the recording from the first quarter. Buffs were holding their own when I last looked. The QB had been hurt (late hit slammed his head on the ground), so even though my team had been doing well, literally anything could have happened at the end. This is my wild Friday night. In jammies early, watching recorded football with a cranky fuzz-pants sitting on the edge of my blanket-in-progress. If I'm feeling really frisky, I might stay awake all the way through my recording, rather than falling asleep early so I'm fresh and perky to volunteer tomorrow.
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