Unlike previous World Cups, I didn't suffer from withdrawal symptoms when the tournament ended this time round.
In fact, I caught just three out of the 64 matches that were played. In past World Cups, I had watched at least half of them.
It's all H's fault.
He has made me forsake football.
And no, it's not because he doesn't like the game, but because he does.
While he's an ideal husband in many ways, he becomes sneery and impatient whenever we talk about the sport.
Whenever I make a pronouncement about football or a player, he'll look incredulously at me.
"You don't know much about the game do you?" he'll say dismissively.
Or "Do you even understand what offside is? Explain it to me."
Or "Haven't you ever played football before?" (Don't be silly; of course I haven't.)
During the finals of the recent World Cup, Argentinian Rodrigo Palacio came on as a substitute to take on Germany.
Now, the most interesting thing (to me) about Palacio is his rat-tail hairdo. His head is shaven except for a long, thin, off-centre strand of hair that's tightly braided.
In the closing minutes of extra time, Palacio came quite close to scoring.
"Hahaha, " I laughed out loud, clutching H's arm excitedly. "Look at his hair, hahaha, it's so ugly."
H, irritated, said: "He nearly scored and you talk about his hair? B****y hell, darling."
It's enough to shut a woman up.
It's clear he doesn't find me a good football couch companion.
My running commentaries have left him cold and he has concluded that I really don't know much about the game.
He also can't understand why I'm more interested in the players than in the way they play.
He gets irritated by how I'm constantly Googling or checking Twitter feeds.
You're not even watching the game, he'll say.
I am, I'm just multi-tasking, I'll reply.