the schmoop is back in town

My boyfriend was visiting out-of-town relatives for a week. Last night I picked him up at the airport.
Now that he’s back, I can no longer do the following things, at least not without comment, ridicule, and possibly censure:

• Watch LSU football games on TV (or UT games if the local stations are being lame about showing LSU) and yell “Go, you goddamned fucking Tigers!” at the screen. (I have to say, I have never yelled, “Go, you goddamned Longhorns!” They don’t seem to inspire it.)
• Eat ice cream directly out of the pint container. Yeah, yeah, sharing is a beautiful thing.
• Watch embarrassingly sappy romantic comedy movies that no one is really supposed to know that I watch, much less that I own the tapes and watch them repeatedly, while designing Web pages or cleaning the living room or washing dishes.
• Sing along with certain bits of Sesame Street … or with CDs from that particular show.
• Wear really gross sweat clothes around the house. No, wait, I do that anyway.
• Order a huge pizza with mushrooms on it. Either we get cheese pizza or we get two smaller pizzas because we have amazingly divergent taste in pizza toppings, with almost no overlap.
• Play late-night syndicated network television in the background while working on the computer. Somehow he really, really doesn’t want to be subjected to Friends reruns. Go figure.
• Skip dinner. Or have ice cream for dinner.

Oh, the sacrifice, the sacrifice. It’s funny how I don’t miss any of that at all while he’s around, except maybe for the singing … and let’s face it, if I want to sing “C is for Cookie” I do it anyway. Also, it might be best to subject him to my (rare) football-watching persona while he still has time to flee.
I’m really glad he’s back. And now we’ve got three weeks before I have to fly to New Orleans for Christmas. I’m still in semi-denial about that. Christmas? What Christmas?