May 21, 2010
SO YOU WISH YOU WERE DEAD
Yesterday marked the one week countdown before helpless husbands like myself are held prisoner in their own homes, to a show featuring full seizures set to music. I try to be a good sport and not say anything. I even try to go into another room and find something else to do so that the temptation to make any snide, smart, disparaging, and accurate comments are avoided. Even its theme song is equally as bad as the show itself. Unfortunately, that show is like a bad stomach virus: It takes over the entire house and there is no way to avoid it. You can only bottle in those comments for so long before there is no place left to pack them, and they eventually all come flooding out.
During one such periodical profanity laced tirades about So You Think You Can Dance to my wife, I was in the middle of lovingly trying to educate her that not only is the show the "Titanic" of bad reality TV shows of all time, but that it may actually be the Antichrist. As soon as I started to think my valid points were sinking in and that in just a matter of seconds she would be forever removing it off our DVR, she dropped this on me: "So You Think You Can Dance is for guys what professional wrestling is for girls." I didn't have anything to say. For the first time in a long time I was completely and utterly speechless. The worst part is that no matter how much I'd like to disagree with such an absurd idea... she was right.
It bothered me for a few weeks, and, if I'm perfectly honest, it still does. I guess deep down I want to think that nothing can even come close to comparing to a show that horrific. I haven't watched wrestling in years outside of random times while my wife and I are watching TV together, I'll change the channel to "wrasslin" for a minute or two faking a serious interest. Just as she is about to get up and leave, I'll change the channel only to do the same thing over again a few minutes later. Rinse and repeat; It never gets old. Next week I will talk more about So You Think You Can Dance and how I'd rather give weekly birth to kidney stones than watch it.