Every Sunday night, I end up going through an internal dialogue about why I love my husband.
Kills spiders. Check.
Takes over tedious tasks like banking. Check.
After 30 years together, makes me laugh. Check.
But every silver lining has a cloud. His is an innate inability to follow Game of Thrones. How someone can watch a series since the beginning and still not know who any of the characters are is beyond me.
So Sunday night, Bran appears (SPOILER ALERT) @ Winterfell and is reunited with his sister. Husband:” Who’s that?” Me: “Bran.” Husband: “Who’s Bran?” Me: “New 3-Eyed crow.” Husband: Puzzled look. ME: “The youngest Stark.” Husband: No comprehension. ME: “THROWN OUT OF A WINDOW IN SEASON ONE BT JAMIE LANNISTER.” Husband: Crickets, then “Who’s Jamie Lannister?”
Our anniversary is coming up this weekend. If we have a hope in hell of making the next anniversary, the husband has to shut the fuck up during Game of Thrones.
Others feel the same way. Read the New York Times article here.