How cliche is my life?
I'm sitting here watching the NBA Finals between the Los Angeles Lakers and the Boston Celtics, two of the most storied franchises in the history of basketball -- for reasons of which my fiance is completely, and offensively, ignorant. She could care less about the game. I am hoping the Celtics win because I can't stand Kobe Bryant.
Speaking of my future wife, she is sitting next to me on the couch, reading ... Twilight, one of the most popular works of modern fiction in the country -- for reasons I will never understand. I could care less about the progression of the story, although unlike the game, I know what's going to happen in the book -- because I have seen the movie. So has she, and yet she continues reading, completely engrossed.
I know, I know. It's not supposed to make sense.
And I can't complain. Why do I get so much joy out of watching Kobe blow a play, then whine and moan and wave his arms around claiming the ref blew a call? One of those imponderables.
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