Live Every Week like Shark Week

My wife and I were watching reruns on Saturday night. I’m not the least bit embarrassed about our lack of fancy plans because Tina Fey is the bomb, and I have a deep and abiding love for her sense of humor. I’m not even going to blame quarantine or make any other excuse. I was in bed with my wife and laughed until I cried — all of my favorite things.

Tracy Morgan’s character ended a ranting tirade by declaring his intention to, “Treat every week like shark week!” I laughed so long and hard that one of our kids came into our room to make sure everything was OK, which is dangerous, because we want to discourage our kids from busting into our bedroom at night uninvited, for their sakes even more than ours. My cousin has a very traumatic story about looking for a band-aid in his parents’ room in the middle of the night that I’d like my kids to not recreate. We keep the bandages prominently accessible in the hall closet for this very reason. But I digress.

Treat every week like shark week! I love that so much, and I don’t really even know what it means. But I invited alcohol to dominate my life, so I have proven that I’ll never let ignorance stand in my way of charging full speed ahead. A really good friend of mine told me that “shark week” can have a certain unwelcome monthly meaning for women. I had never heard that association, but I didn’t need an explanation…