Four weeks ago, my husband had a run-in with a miter saw, resulting in a nearly amputated thumb, reconstructive surgery, a hospital stay, and a lot of time on his hands (pun intended) while he heals before returning to work.

So he’s started watching cricket.

Maybe it’s because I refuse to spend any time learning about this sport, but y’all. This sport makes no sense. It’s like baseball on drugs.

I went for a run (*cough*walk*cough*) last night and when I got back to the house he was watching cricket and excitedly telling me all about bowlers and wickets and aerodynamics. Bless his heart – all I could think was, “When will this be over?”

And then he told me. IN EIGHT HOURS.

I thought he stuttered. I was wrong.

Next thing I know he’s telling me he’s over two hours into this particular game (match? exhibition? who knows?) and they are about to break for lunch.

That’s right. Lunch. They have lunch breaks in the middle of the game because they are endlessly long.

As a mama of two little whirlwinds my lunch usually consists of the scraps left on their plates and sneak-eating Smarties while hiding in the pantry.

Don’t get me wrong. I love these babies. But a lunch break in the middle of a sports game? These guys are completely spoiled. Dear husband, I am ready for you to explain cricket to me now that I will be returning to the workforce as a professional cricket player.