When the idea of Super Bowl parties were in their infancy, Mark was in graduate school. One of the guys in his lab invited us to the home of he and his wife to watch the big game.
Mark was going to decline the invitation because of the general weirdness of the guy but I prevailed. “No, we have to go. These things are supposed to be fun and so what if he’s a little strange? He’s probably going to invite the whole lab and the rest of those guys are always fun.”
Against my husband’s better judgement we drove to our first Super Bowl party hours before the game was set to start, and there in the driveway was our host anxiously awaiting our arrival.
“Well, this doesn’t look good,” The Big Daddy said after noting the absence of any other cars.
We went in with our beer offerings and dove headfirst into a long stretch of awkward small talk. “So,” The Big Daddy asked, “who else are you expecting?”
“Nobody. Just the four of us.”
The Big Daddy looked my way but I didn’t meet his stinkeye. It was a party, nonetheless. One doesn’t need a houseful to make fun. Four can be fun.
We mingled in the kitchen for awhile as they finished making the food and eventually went into the dining room to eat. The hostess came out and said to her husband, “Bear, can you help me a second?”
“Sure, Penguin.”
Bear? Penguin?
They both came out with more food and she put hers down and said, “I love my Big Bear.” He growled and said, “I love my little Penguin,” and then she said ARARARARAR and shook her butt back and forth. He said, “That’s what the penguin does,’ and they smooched.
And me and The Big Daddy said to ourselves, “What the f***.”
Every time she needed him for some help she’d stand in front of him shaking her rear and saying “ARARARARAR” and he’d get up and kiss her and they acted like this was the most normal thing ever.
Back and forth, in and out of the kitchen they would go and The Big Daddy and I didn’t know what the hell to make of this party. Once when they were both in the kitchen Mark pointed to the salsa and said “ARARARARARAR” and shimmied in his chair.
And I nearly peed myself laughing.
By the time the game actually came on we had a few too many beers in us. Whenever they would leave the room The Big Daddy would say “ARARARARAR” and cop a feel next to me on the couch. I would growl at him and we would laugh and snort.
“Well, you two sure seem to be having a good time,” the Real Bear said to us. “We were going to invite some other people, but then we thought it wouldn’t be as much fun. Isn’t that right, Penguin?”
“ARARARARAR,” Penguin said.
Since we were new to the whole Super Bowl thing, we didn’t know that it lasted for hours and that’s a long time to be drunk and all alone with a Bear and a Penguin.
When it finally ended we said our thank yous and goodbyes and got in the car. “What just happened in there,” The Big Daddy asked staring out the windshield and into the window of hosts.
“I have no idea,” I answered back.
It’s been years since we’ve even been to a party for the Super Bowl. “It’s too much socializing with my football,” The Big Daddy growls.
I twerk back.
ARARARARAR.