I am a glutton. I am incapable of keeping anything I really love in the house without needing to consume it in large quantities, usually in a series of closely-spaced sittings until it’s all gone and can torment my willpower no longer. The concept of enjoying just one small piece is not something I am familiar with; I have to have the whole thing, or at least as much as I can digest in one go. After the guzzling, the inevitable bloated feeling sets in…. and the guilt, oh the guilt.
This terrible weakness is the reason why I have devoured all twenty-seven episodes of the first series of Desperate Housewives in a week. In the early evening I could hear the box of DVDs calling out to me: “Watch us, watch us, you know you want to.” And so I would watch. Sometimes four episodes back-to-back, until my eyes were red and bleary and I quite simply could ingurgitate no more of the goings-on in Wisteria Lane.
The intensive viewing even led to hallucinations — a spotty guy on a bike whizzed past me and for a eeny-teeny moment I was sure it was Zack. I almost raised my hand to wave. Sometimes two binge-viewed series got a little muddled and I ended up wondering if Meredith and her friends couldn’t do something for poor Rex as he lay dying on his hospital bed.
A fellow sufferer recently asked which of the Desperadas I identify with most. Now, I would really love to be able provide a little frisson to this blog and claim that, "actually, I feel very close to Gabriella...." but we all know that I am Lynette. I can only be the harassed mother of very active children, I will never be the nubile Latina in silk pyjamas. Neither will I ever be Bree of the perfect house and silverware, nor the dizzy Susan.
Only I bet that even Lynette wouldn’t be seen dead in a script indulging in junk-TV benders and from now on, that’s it, neither will I. That boxed set of the first series of Lost can call out its siren song all it likes. I’m on a strict diet and will not give in to the lure of a couple of hours of pure, sickly-sweet escapism. I have much more worthy things to do.
Until the cravings set in, that is ...