Come a week from Friday, I will be up to my eyeballs in bobsleigh. And biathlon. And ice hockey. And Nordic combined.
Never mind that I have no idea what Nordic combined means — or what’s combined with what. Given the chance, I will be tuning in to watch.
Ditto curling. Never curled. Never had the slightest inclination. I know it involves a rock and a broom, but no idea what the broom is for. The ice never seems to be in need of a sweep.
No matter. Except for those moments when I am forced to do other things — like sleep, say, and shower — I will be glued to the action in PyeongChang.
I’m something of an Olympic addict.
“We should try for a little getaway in February,” the husband remarked not long ago.
“We can only go someplace where there’s a television,” I replied. “And you know I won’t be going outside next month, right?”
Things tend to be somewhat put off when the big show is on. Most years, I’ll get a jump on tidying the garden in February. Not so this year. I’ll be watching luge instead of raking, and taking in skeleton instead of sweeping the deck.
Again, not entirely sure what skeleton is, but it seems to me it’s as dangerous as it sounds, and not the kind of sport I would have encouraged my children to pursue.
Skiing? I’m there. Don’t care whether it’s alpine, freestyle or cross-country. I’ll be letting the laundry pile up while I’m cheering on the home team.
“But Family Day is next month,” the husband continued. “I was thinking we could take off for the three-day weekend.”
“Instead of snowboarding?” I said. “Or figure skating? Or long-track speed skating?”
“Who knows,” said the husband. “They might be airing in the middle of the night.”
I turned to look at him.
“But they’ll have repeats during the day,” I pointed out.
As it is, there are sure to be plenty of annoyances, other than sleep, that will stand between me and the competition. Work, for instance.
I can put off the dusting, but if I want to continue to collect a paycheque, I’d better not put men’s ice hockey before the nine-to-five.
Still. One can watch only so much television. And perhaps the husband had a point: Getaways are good.
“I’m in,” I said after a while.
And so, there it is. Come Family Day, we’re outta here and on a mini vacation. I’m absolutely fine with this. The hockey will not have begun.
