Dear Michael (the actor, not my husband),
I have to tell you: it's unhealthy what you're doing to me.
Last week, I was simply minding my own business: the TV was on, the husband was out of town - I had complete reign over my entertainment.
Should I catch up on Real Housewives of New Jersey? What's that crazy Danielle going to say today? Or will it be Top Chef? Why is that chick making another burger and why does it look like a turd?
As luck (good or bad, this is TBD) would have it, my remote guided me to Showtime, where lo and behold, Dexter was on.
Season 3. Episode 11. Jimmy Smits.
Instantly, I am addicted.
My addictions are like illnesses. I must avoid them at all costs.
I know this, but I don't walk away. Instead, I give in.
And here I am.
Two seasons down. Two more to go.
How will I cope when there are no more seasons to watch?
How, I ask you, HOW?