Blood, sweat and burgers

I spent last Monday night watching Wrestlemania 25 with my husband and my son, staying up well past my bedtime. It was a belated Christmas present to our pro-wrestling obsessed boy. Nothing's greater in the world to a 14 year old than people smashing into each other and the fake drama that surrounds it. My husband and I were both wrestling fans at that age, too, so we're fairly understanding. Of course, we didn't have DVR capabilities to record every ounce of wrestling on TV to watch later. And let's be clear, there's A LOT of wrestling on TV these days. It's on several times a week.
So, Monday night was four full hours of explosions and Kid Rock and half-naked girls and large, sweaty men. Of course, the latter wasn't all that bad. (I may or may not have fallen for several muscular, neckless men during my single days. I will not deny nor confirm this. I discovered I like necks, though, they're kissable. Whew... is it warm in here?) We had burgers and home fries for dinner, one of the boy's favorite meals. I also threw in some mid-Wrestlemania Chocolate and Caramel Crunch-n-Munch that I highly recommend. While we were cooking dinner, my son said "Wow, burgers, homefries and Wrestlemania!" With a small sarcastic drip I replied, "mmm, it's like a little slice of heaven." Without missing a beat, he frantically nodded his head, "Yeah! Really!" I didn't even attempt to help him catch my sarcasm - he was the happiest boy in the world.