Best laid plans of mice and me sometimes end up on the couch. I didn’t make it to Dad’s today. His instructions on the phone this afternoon? ‘Wrap your menstrual hormones around some ice cream. I’m going back to bed.’ My response? ‘Why are you so NICE to me?’ And then I ate half a bag of Doritos. Because I could. It was mostly air, anyway. And because we’re out of Ben & Jerry’s. And because Mint Chocolate Chunk™ is not available in the UK. Help that cause here.
Anyway, I spent most of the weekend reading and watching television. I don’t watch much TV anymore, if it isn’t The Big Bang Theory. However, I find myself recently fond of Revenge. I cannot figure out whether this is because or in spite of Madeleine Stowe. After I caught up with that, I hopped a little and watched my first ever 20 minutes of The Real Housewives of New York. 20 minutes too long? Maybe. And then Sarge came home from helping some friends move house. I admitted that I watched all or part of these shows, insisting that we improve the state of my brain by watching a thought-provoking film. We chose This is Spinal Tap. Then we watched the full-length extras.
On Sunday, I stretched myself by watching Federer win the Wimbledon Final. Just in time to watch Ghostbusters.
On Monday, I took a break from this brain-freeze, which I blame fully on Lorna’s Festival of Cramps. I was at the Jobcentre. Because I need another day-job.
Reading The Best of Everything, which is about women who have day-jobs, is not the same as having one myself.
What’s your favourite guilty pleasure TV show? Your secret is safe with me.
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