The Un-SuperBowl.

SuperBowl is a big deal chez Fickle Feline. Reminder invites go out before the Christmas hullaballoo starts in December, and mental preparation starts shortly after that. What worked last year? What was a dud? And now we have to take the kids into consideration to boot.

This year, we were going to have our lovely friends Shane, Stephanie and their little girl Charlotte over. Cathy and her boyfriend Gordon were invited as well but she was skiing out west, so they were a no-go. The week before the big day, all appeared well. Then Max started coughing. Crap. Then I started coughing. Double crap. Better phone our friends and give them the choice of backing out lest they expose themselves to our germs. Shane and Stephanie, being made of tough stuff, were still optimistic about attending, but wee Charlotte was another story.

In the midst of our chili preparation on SuperBowl morning (a new recipe care of Big Daddy Drew on deadspin), we found out that Charlotte was at the hospital because she was so dehydrated from the flu that she needed IV fluids. Obviously we were very worried about her, and hoped for a speedy recovery. But now Plan B had to be put into action. Scaling back was required. Perhaps pizza and wings were not necessary. And, scratch the veggie tray, that is really for appearances only. No need for a 2-4 of beer either. Scott went out to run errands with his somewhat revised grocery list and reappeared shortly with wings and beverages so we could enjoy the show.

At this point, Max, Cameron and myself were in full blown coughing mode and not feeling much like eating. Not that I expected Cameron to pull her weight in the wings department, but I knew Max was clearly under the weather when he started munching on celery. I made it to half time and when it became clear that the Steelers were going to run away with it, I went to bed. Ahem. Yes, I am aware that the second half was much more exciting and that the Cardinals almost won. I guess that's why they play the game.