So, It’s 2017 and the entire United States of America is pissed off about one thing or another. It’s difficult to feel enlightened when one’s entire country feels as if the lights went out and have no chance of coming back for awhile. We’re all protesting about something.
So this year, those of us who absolutely have no interest what-so-ever in freaking football, yet feel obligated to at least act vaguely entertained so as to be invited to some awful Super Bowl party, which is always awful if you hate football, so why bother, but we feel we should because Everyone does, are protesting by having our own damn parties.
Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Super Bow 2017. Women of style and gay men across America will reach out to one another and throw the most fabulous theme parties ever imagined. Super. Bow. As in Hair Bow. Let the ribbon flow.
There will be amazing food that doesn’t drip all over the damn couch and floor. There will be wine instead of beer. There will be cocktails instead of shots of whiskey. There will be disco music. There will be scented candles. There will be no polyester jerseys of any kind at all. The television will not be on at any time, at least until we’re all good and drunk, and then it will be to watch old reruns of the Mary Tyler Moore Show.
We will be fabulous and we will be frivolous and we will decorate with hair bows and we will wear hair bows and we will create magnificent hair bows for our daughters and our sons, in pussy pink and environmental green and queer lavender.
Because we don’t have to feel bad about ourselves just because we don’t like football. We don’t have to defend the facts that it’s a dangerous sport more likely to make our sons stupid due to brain injury than it is to make them manly. We don’t have to pretend not to see that the vast majority of players are obviously misusing steroids. We don’t have to keep our thoughts to ourselves that the shoulder pads and skin-tight leggings remind us of the fashions of Dynasty and Dallas and looked fairly ridiculous on women in the 1980s and certainly look ridiculous on men now. We don’t have to eat hot wings and bean dip.
We will rejoice in not conforming to the opinions of the masses, and we will loudly bemoan the face that the masses are sometimes idiots because they’re too lazy to think for themselves anymore, but mostly, we will glorify in the fact that, dammit, I don’t LIKE football and I’m having my own party to celebrate something I enjoy, which is essential and important, because if we stop finding things to celebrate then we just start marching in lockstep.