Apparently I am addicted to reality television. The sound of Padma saying "Hands Up, Knives Down" makes me smile.
I watch the clock on Tuesdays, anxiously awaiting for that splendid 8:00 hour when Idol begins.
The beginning and finale of Survivor is a special event in the Cunningham household to be celebrated with Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Phish Food, of course.
I once wasted an entire Saturday on an America's Next Top Model marathon on Bravo. After about eight hours Garry made me change the channel, and so I had to look on the Internet to see who had won. It put a serious strain on our marriage. In my defense, I was already in bed because of the flu.
Though he watches most of these shows with me, Garry is puzzled and somewhat amused by my addiction. He thinks that I would watch a reality show about homeless men getting voted off their favorite park bench, and he might be right. Perhaps someone should pitch that to the networks.