The end of my widowhood?

Another cross-post from Froogville - on the most acutely galling of my recent 'birthday disappointments'. I think I chose to put it first on Froogville because I plan to follow up on the topic of 'hated sports' there at some point; but really, the key theme of abandonment by 'drinking companions' is Barstool fare.

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There are a number of my principal drinking buddies - notably The Choirboy and The Suave Bengali - that I have scarcely seen in the last 6 weeks. Their unfortunate addiction to the wretched game of rugby is to blame.

So thoroughgoing is my lack of interest in this that I had been completely unaware of the event in question (the World Cup, apparently??!!) until it was well under way, managed to avoid seeing even one second of TV coverage of it, and had not heard a single result until last week. I even remained obstinately unmoved when I learned that England had unexpectedly made it to the final; or when friends afterwards complained to me that "we were robbed". I have NEVER in my life watched a game of rugby on TV; and I don't want that record ever to change.

Imagine my dismay when I learned that a number of my female chums had planned an all-girl 'sleepover' to watch the final game this weekend.... rendering them unavailable to join me for revelry on my birthday.

When I was informed of this unfortunate clash in a text message from my lovely friend DD, I responded bitterly (oh, how I love the succinctness of SMS!): "Aha! Now my spurning is COMPLETE. Bloody rugby!"

A detailed description of the depth of my loathing for this game can wait until another time. For now, I just want to celebrate being once again free of its baleful influence for another 6 months or so. Vile, vile, boring, vile game!!