At last, a moment of relative repose; one child is asleep on the couch, his arms over his head like a preening weightlifter, and the other is momentarily pinioned in his chair and scarfing down his dinner. My wife has control of the remote, so the TV is tuned to a show about wedding planners that airs on one of those ultra-niche three-digit channels. Oh, the suspense! Will Denise get the stargazer lilies from the florist to the reception before they wilt? And how will Ashley react when she finds out the band's drummer used to date the maid of honor?
My wife loves this sort of crap. Which is why she is a freak. (Unlike me, whose willingness to sit through hours of New Yankee Workshop reruns is perfectly normal.)
She and I agree, however, that this household's newest favorite show is The Comeback. It's a fictional show about a reality show filming the genesis of a fictional show. It has Lisa Kudrow, who we know is very smart because she is just as rich and famous as the other Friends and yet has convinced the tabloid press that she is uninteresting and unworthy of harassment. And it has spawned a new catchphrase destined to seep into a water cooler near you: "I just need to know that I'm being heard." I love this phrase, because since my descent in to polyprogeny it has become the subtitle of my life. I serve my masters at work, I serve my (much more voluble) masters at home, and in my free time I notice that I haven't posted in five days and serve my webmasters, the Internets.
Meanwhile, my favorite type of servicing remains off-limits for another few weeks. Of all those I answer to, irony is the most brutal mistress.
