With a good night sleep still taking residence in my eyes I walked out of the house to warm up the Jeep. I opened the door and found a note on my seat. "Don't be offended, but you belly is getting too big for your heart. Stop eating so late at night because I love you and want you to be healthy"
I was not offended, after all lately my belly is getting too big for my heart. Still my thoughts immediately tuned in to the weekly recurrence of one of the more ridiculous realty shows on TV. The Biggest Loser, unfortunately, is a must watch in my house. In fact in had been on in our bedroom for about two hours just the night before. It became apparent to me that this show had prompted the Debster to write me what I have come to view as a "reality show era love note". I really didn't know what to say, but since I was alone I didn't say anything. Instead I called her, to thank her for the note, and to apologize for causing her to worry about me.
As I drove to work I started to think about the evolution of this note, the reality show that I think prompted it, and perhaps how other reality shows and programs on television that my wife may have been exposed to c may affect the very sanctity of my life.
First my weight situation. In my never ending battle of the bulge I am currently at a peak. I am convinced that Debbie's weekly viewing of two extremely fit people screaming and abusing some severely overweight people, (all for their own good mind you.....hah!) prodded her to become vocal about her concerns for me. She no doubt pictured me sometime in the future with my shirt off, throwing up on a treadmill while Jillian yelled at me in front of a television audience of 40 million people. Potentially this could be embarrassing and effect Joelle's prospects of getting into the high school of our choice, so Deb sent me the love note.
I'm sure most of you will view this as a positive thing, and I would tend to agree. After all it caused me to pledge to her that I will lose at least some of that belly. Still, I remain extremely concerned about how easily Debbie is influenced by what she sees on the tube.
Or what if after an episode of Jersey Shore she starts fist pumping at me in public, or maybe she'll turn me to that guy on the HGTV who embarrasses husband who can't finish jobs around the house. It could get even worse. What if she starts grinding up male enhancement pills like that guy Smiling Bob does on all those commercials (his wife does look awfully happy), and sprinkling them in my coffee.
Well my future is clearly uncertain. If I think about all the possible hurdles I may have to face I won't be able to sleep. So for the time being I'll just give my props to the reality show that has my wife writing me love notes again, and hope she doesn't decide to go on the Bachelorette.
