"I fear the crazed and lonely looks / the mirror's sending me these days."
I watch entirely too much bad television. I call it "Folding Laundry TV", but let's be honest: the time spent actually folding laundry is disproportionate to the time spent idly watching the shows so designated for the activity.
It all began innocently during the summer of 2003. Dusty and I had just gotten married and we were living in a one-bedroom craphole in Sunnyvale. The only furniture we had in the living area were our computer setups, cozy couch, entertainment center, and gigantomongous 61" TV. We had gotten one a' dem newfangled TiVo whatsits so we wouldn't have to surf 1000 channels for one good show to watch. The magic TiVo sprite neatly lined up our favorite shows so we can watch them at our convenience, virtually commercial-free!
One laundry day, however, I found that the TiVo lineup comprised shows designated for Binky and Booboo Snuggle Time. If I watch any of the shows without Dusty, then Snuggle Time might be compromised. And who wants that? Nobody.
So I started (gasp) channel-surfing and landed on TLC's What Not to Wear, with Stacy London and Clinton Kelly. I wasn't paying very close attention at first; it was only meant to be white noise. Then Clinton said, "Honey, you are so cute. Must you wear your grandmother's tablecloth when you meet your girls for drinks?" OH SNAP! Stacy then showed the cutiegirl a more fitting outfit and said, "The ensemble doesn't have to match; it has to go." So the sun always shines on TV, but the shoes don't always have to match the bag? Thank Goddess!
Within ten minutes, I had fallen a little bit in love with those saucy bitches. Sure, a few of their comments were mean, but they never seemed mean-spirited. They seemed like they were genuinely trying to help a sista out. Sometimes love has to be tough. Sometimes pleated pants have to be thrown out.
Actually, pleated pants should always be thrown out. They draw unnecessary attention to the belly area, sometimes even creating the illusion of a belly where there is none. Look, even the Legion of Doom--who suffered Solomon Grundy's shenanigans for years--rejected Phantom Paunch. Do not invite him into your pants!
Okay, I'm starting to feel better about my penchant for watching trash TV. Sure, it scares away my hunny, but TLC does stand for The Learning Channel. And who else would warn me against that fat bastard Phantom Paunch? Nobody.