Reality Check

It was Date Night again last night. Yahoo! We met two other couples at a charming little Italian bistro and had a jovial evening, which included a pinot grigio toast to Global Warming. (Here in the Midwest, Global Warming is our Friend.) A good time was had by all, except for the part where I thought I recognized “the young missing mother” from a newspaper story, alive and well and enjoying fettuccine alfredo a few tables over. Apparently I was very wrong, and, again, I apologize for wrestling that poor women to the ground and screaming, “Somebody call the Bolingbook police! I found her ALIVE!” It was…..well, mortifying to all involved. But I swear she looked just like the woman. And there is a $20,000 reward. Never mind. My bad. Let’s blame it on the pinot grigio.

In any case, as I was enjoying the gnocchi with marinara, we got to talking about Reality Television, and how my friends have certain favorite shows they watch. I did not admit it last night, but now I must confess that I am physically incapable of watching Reality TV. I am way too much of a softie, and I cannot bare to watch adults lose, be disappointed, get voted off, be humiliated on national TV. I honestly have to turn the channel. Darn my stinkin' “mush heart!” Their sad faces haunt me, and my co-dependency issues rear their ugly head. I want to take the “losers” home, bake them a pie, and pour encouragement into their broken hearts, and hope into their broken dreams.

When I saw a clip of a young boy on American Idol be verbally throttled by Simon Cowell, the sight of his hurt, confused eyes wrecked me for weeks. I truly cried about him for a couple of days, until I heard that Rosie O’Donnell, bless her kind and generous heart, sent him to Disney World.

I would make the WORST judge on one of those shows. I really would. I’d waffle back and forth: “I like him, but I also like her. I’d actually rather not hurt anyone's feelings. Let’s give them EACH an “A” for effort, gosh darn it! They all did their very best, so let’s just hand everyone a check and call it a night.” Yes, I would be an appallingly bad judge on one of those shows. Which is why I’ve never been asked. (That, and many other reasons.)

What is my point? I have no idea. Perhaps it's one of the following:
A. If ever I watch Reality TV, I must have a jar of Zoloft and a big hunk of something chocolate.
B. Rosie O’Donnell is a nicer person than Simon Cowell.
C. I should never blog after a night of drinking pinot grigio.

Thanks to all who have been so encouraging about my blog, and to those wonderful people that leave comments. It is humbling to discover that people occasionally read my ramblings. Bless you all!