Desperate Housewives of Which One Was This Again?

In which our Hero is sure he should be feeling more embarrassed about this, but doesn’t and so is embarrassed that he’s not feeling so embarrassed as he should be.

Dear Nocturne,

I love you. Very much. And I’d like to take today as an occasion to share just how much that is. In a measure that at least someone is bound to understand.

Love,

Serin

So, essentially since the first episode or two of Survivor, I’ve been pretty uninterested in reality TV. My interest is stories, and while reality has stories and fiction has stories, and when you take away the plotting, what’s left is still crafted, but somehow not as interesting to me. Which naturally means that I’m going to tease my cousins for their voracious interest in The Apprentice and mock my coworker for his fixation on Survivor.

And here’s where I confess someone else’s guilty pleasure: Nocturne loves the Real Housewives of (mumble). She was so shy about admitting it and I would not have guessed that she liked it. But she’s where she can’t get much television so I’ve been sending episodes her way and then, one day, she asked if I’d watch some with her.

I said yes, and my poor sweetheart was so suddenly flustered at me watching with her that she backtracked and excused me from having to watch it with her. Which was really sweet but also completely unnecessary. I’d watch anything with her. Though I admit to trepidations. Real housewives? Really?

She watches them all in sequence. I join her for episodes as it happens our free time lines up, which means I see slices of the slices of life. As with anything, we cue up the show, she counts (only she counts, she is fiercely possessive of this right), and we watch.

And after giving it what I think has been a fair shake, I’m not a fan of the show. I’ve sampled through three different iterations and it’s still not something I’d choose to watch on my own. I know that the show is going to play things up for conflict and drama but even beyond what’s manufactured, I find myself without any great empathy for these women who seem so spoiled and detached from actual adult responsibility (and I know that’s really harsh because a number of them do real work, but that’s my impression from the show). They’re small people with no basis for their celebrity that I respect, and I would not choose them for friends or associates. But while I wouldn’t choose these people, the decision to watch means they’re still around me, and they’re not generally offensive, so like my lady, I just sit back and take in the show.

After the initial dismay, it’s a surprising amount of fun to watch these shows with Nocturne. Because she’s laughing at the same things I find funny. And we talk as we watch, about things that the show or the conversation brings to mind. Frequently she shares some of the shenanigans that have happened in other seasons and other series. And we heckle, because we can. Or plan vacations, which is a lot of fun for us to daydream about.

It’s odd though. Despite the fact that all the episodes are on my drive so I can “ship” them, and despite my own slightly obsessive need to complete a series, I’m not motivated to watch at all, without her. It makes me uneasy to delete the seasons she’s finished, but that’s me being a data architect. So I’m glad she lets me drop in on episodes instead of making me stay current.

(I will tease her on one thing about this, though. I watch the different casts and can usually figure who’s who after two or three episodes. Which is kind of bad since I only watch maybe four per season Nocturne goes through. Whereas she is able to keep track of each and every one of these characters, to a degree that is rivalled only by little kids with their Pokemon toys.)

Anyway, there you have it. A grown heterosexual man watching reality Housewives. Let the mockery begin.