Outnumbered Two to One

I have a confession to make.

I love my TV.

I know it’s wrong. I know it in my heart of hearts. My TV is nothing but a horrible hate filled box overflowing with mind numbing programming and strategic advertising.

Unfortunately sometimes I need some brain anesthesia, a good healthy dose of not thinking. After a long day of mitigating sibling wars, obsessing over finances, and perpetually feeding my small army, there is nothing more relaxing than sinking in to my pillow top with the remote control in a death grip, and watching a couple of hours of mindless television.

It’s like comfort food only calorie free. Zero trans fats, I’m almost certain.

I know there is no redeeming value to shows like Rock of Love Charm School, or Scream Queens, or America’s Next Top Model, just like I know a half a package of Oreos is not brimming in nutritional value.  Vitamin content is soooo NOT the point of a cookie. I’m not looking to Tyra Banks and her bony model wannabes for depth, that would be sad.

I want to laugh at them, I want to dislike them on a very fundamental level, I want to ooh and aah as they strike a ridiculous pose then babble incoherently in a confessional type setting. It’s a good time.

It’s a temporary vacation from substance, from provocative thought and introspection. I get enough of that, seriously. I read, I think, I am. For a little while, though, I want to watch, vegetate, and not be a thing. I don’t do massages, I don’t do yoga, and I don’t imbibe.

So what’s a little bimbo watching in the grand scheme of things?

For my husband, it’s car shows, or gun shows, or do-it-yourself shows.

For me, it’s trashy reality television. It’s the equivalent of a mental Twinkie. You’re not sure what the hell it’s made of, but it fills a certain void with its sweet poison.

Now, if I could just get through a single episode of anything without interruptions.

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For more spins on the topic of relaxation visit Sprite’s Keeper: The Spin Cycle . It’s tastier than a Twinkie and good for you too.

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