“Hey honey, what time...” began my husband.
“Sssh, not now.” I replied. “My show is on!” He glanced at the TV to see what I was watching, shook his head, and left the room muttering something sarcastic that sounded like, "Wow, I really hope she says yes to the dress."
It was true. I had a stupid TV obsession. I like to think of it as giving my brain a reprieve. After spending the day writing or editing and mothering, nothing makes me happier than settling in for some mind-numbing television. Of course, it’s not so much that I’m a compulsive reality show watching idiot, but rather that I just like to get a glimpse into a world that I don't inhabit. However, this explanation would make me more of a voyeur than simply an idiot, so maybe I’ll just stick with defining myself as an easily entertained moron.
The truth is, I find it fun for an hour (or six) to watch other people do things I’d like to do but can’t. I could never bake a cute little Darth Vader cupcake like they do in "Cupcake Wars" (I even tried it in my Easy-Bake Oven, to no avail). I could never sew couture clothes out of duct tape in 12 hours AND have intense rivalries with my fellow designers like they do on "Project Runway." And even though I had my house renovated a year ago, none of my workmen looked even remotely like the "Property Brothers." Do I live in a fantasy world of fondant-obsessed bakers, handsome contractors and women who are willing to spend $28,000 on a wedding dress? Yes. Yes I do. So sue me. But only if you do it on "Judge Judy."
“I really don't get the appeal,” said my husband returning to the room.
“It's entertaining and they accomplish something.”
“Wouldn’t it be more entertaining and more cultured to do something like read ‘Pride and Prejudice?’” he asked.
“More cultured, yes. But not more entertaining since I’ve already read it like, a dozen times and I already know (spoiler alert) that Lizzie gets Darcy at the end. Whereas, I have no idea who will get the rose on 'The Bachelor' or whether Lori will find the perfect dress for Monica in Atlanta or if Monica will go home empty handed, which of course would be devastating since it’s only seven months to the wedding.”
My husband just stared at me with his mouth agape.
“Honey, you used to be so smart,” he finally commented. “You graduated college with honors. You’ve won awards for your writing. You’ve raised two incredibly intelligent children. And now you’re obsessed with trying to figure out who’s better looking, Drew or Jonathan.”
“How do you know who Drew and Jonathan are?”
“They’re the 'Property Brothers,'” he said.
“I know they’re the 'Property Brothers.' How do YOU know they’re the 'Property Brothers?'”
“I, um, probably picked up on it when you were watching the show.”
“Nice try. Don’t think I didn’t notice that some of the episodes I recorded had already been watched.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“And anyway...” he said as he left the room. “Everyone knows Jonathan is the better looking one.”
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