While watching one of the many Olympics recap montages and snacking on buttered popcorn, Ben and I can’t believe that some of the swimmers’ bodies are actually real. I’ve already mentioned to Ben more than once that if Michael Phelps can eat 12,000 calories a day and still look like that, then maybe I should get a pool.

“And then look at Dara Torres!” I scream, pointing to a set of abs that could probably pull an eighteen wheeler out of the mud. You’ll note that I pronounce her first name as if it rhymes with Laura. Because I’m dangerous that way.

“That’s DANA Torres,” he says, boldly correcting me.

“No, it’s DARA.”

“DANA.”

“DARRRRRRRRRRRA.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re delusional.”

Suddenly, the voiceover talks about Dara’s (pronounced like Farrah) medals, and Ben claims victory.

“Not even,” I say.

“You pronounced it totally wrong,” he points out shielding his head from potential assault.

“But at least I got the letters right.”

“Doesn’t matter, my pronunciation was closer.”

“Correct letters trump closer pronunciation.”

“You just made up that rule, Daniel. Pulled it right out of your butt. When the history books are written it will show that I won.”

“In that case, it will also show how much restraint I showed by not dumping this entire bowl of popcorn on your head. You’ll have won, but everyone will have been rooting for me.”