Now that football season is over, there’s not a whole lot of good TV to watch on the weekends. Yeah, there’s the XFL, but comparing it to the NFL is like comparing a gecko to Godzilla. The XFL excites me about as much as watching the video footage of my last colonoscopy. Since there is no football to watch, as dictated by our wedding vows, my wife gets custody of the TV remote during this time of year, except during the NFL draft, of course.
My wife likes to watch cable channels that lie dormant in our household between August and mid-February. HGTV, Bravo, the Food Network and some channel that shows graphic surgeries on ugly feet, hideous lumps and humongous human beings have caused that gluteal indentation in the seat cushion of my recliner to disappear. My wife has discovered that by watching Hoarders, the trash gets taken out and her car gets washed.
There are some interesting programs on the Food Network that I’ll watch with my wife, but I get irritated to hear diners talk about their meal as “comfort food.” I just can’t grasp this terminology, although my tolerant wife has tried explaining it to me. If I am hungry enough, pert near any vittles would be comfort food to me, unless it has a lot of dairy in it. Being lactose intolerant, there’s little comfort in driving home from the restaurant when those cheese enchiladas are creating enough gas to fill the Goodyear blimp.
