When I was a child, hell, when I was a teenager, my television viewing was incredibly censored by my
overbearing, paranoid, well-meaning parents. My sister and I weren’t allowed to watch any tv shows or movies that depicted actors kissing, women who wore too much makeup, or unruly farm animals.
Since we didn’t have cable at our house, we relied on good friends and random people we met in dark alleys for our MTV fix and forbidden shows such as Married With Children. I fantasized about the day I would be able to see an R-rated movie and vowed that I would spend the rest of my life wasting precious time by watching seedy television; every young girl’s dream.
Which is why now, at the tender age of almosthirtythree I am dumbfounded at the fact that I spend my tv time watching……iCarly. Religiously. With my husband. Without our kids in the same room.
People. We press pause when one of us has to get up and pee.
Clearly we have suffered a massive brain injury that neither one of us can remember and instead of watching crap that’s seeping with gore, violence, and sexual themes like other mentally stable couples, we’re glued to the tube and completely immersed in the lives of three loveable webcast stars and their unrealistic yet hysterically relatable antics.
So while I may not be able to join your conversation about the time Jonathon woke up from a coma and realized he was in love with his stepbrother’s paternal grandmother who just got out of prison for killing her lover Jose with a sharpened eyebrow pencil……
if you happen to be curious about how Carly, Sam and Freddie got stuck in a lonely girl’s basement along with a mild-mannered chicken named Maurice, and eventually got rescued by their oddball pal Gibby by sending him a secret code birthday message via email….…..
then I’m your girl.