“Why on earth are you watching the Oprah Winfrey Network?”
These were the first words out of Scott’s mouth upon returning home from work yesterday evening.
Just to clarify, I don’t really have a problem with Oprah. I wouldn’t say I’m a huge fan, but sometimes, when I’m yelling out motivational phrases during my kickboxing class, I strive to sound like she does when she’s announcing that everyone in the studio audience is getting a new car.
I also look up to her for coining the word “vajayjay”.
That being said, I’ve never followed her show, and don’t watch her channel on a regular basis. In fact, I think yesterday may have been the first time I’ve actually watched OWN. And really, I wasn’t even watching it…sometimes I just like to have the TV on for background noise as working from home all by myself can get a bit too quiet for my liking.
I could just listen to music, but that just makes me want to get up and dance. Fifteen minutes later I’ll find myself red and sweaty, and I still haven’t gotten any work done. For some reason, I can tune out the television…especially when it’s an investigative documentary about a crime that took place in the late nineties. This was exactly what happened to be airing when Scott entered the apartment at 5:02.
“Why is it that everything on OWN seems to be about husbands murdering their wives?” Scott inquired. “Oprah must really hate men.”
“That’s not always the case,” I argued. “They were advertising a marathon called ‘Women Who Kill’ just a few minutes ago.”
“Okay, good.” he responded.
And then something very strange happened.
Scott sat down on the couch and started watching OWN.
For five hours straight.
I guess that’s kind of a lie. He did get up once to fetch the iPad so that he might do some additional research on the murder cases that were being reenacted on our flat screen television.
I should probably mention that Scott has a theory that I’m one day going to stab him. While I do sometimes have a temper, and have been known to run around the house flailing my arms like a crazy person while screaming made-up swear words like “crab panties” and ”potato balls”, never in a million years would I resort to sticking him with a blade of any sort.
Attempting to throw a bowl of salsa at him and accidentally hitting my old laptop keyboard instead?
Absolutely. (Rest in peace, Dell laptop)
But stabbing him with a sharp pointy object?
I actually think the whole stabbing thing is less of a theory, and more something he says because he knows how much it irritates me. I kept this in mind when during the second hour of his OWN murder mystery experience, he looked over his shoulder and shouted “You realize this is what you’re going to do to me some day!” into the kitchen.
“Scott,” I calmly replied, “I know you’re just kidding when you say that, but it actually hurts my feelings. Plus…if you look at the data, you’ll see that it’s usually the husband who kills the wife. Statistically speaking, you’re much more likely to stab me.”
“Yeah,” he snickered. “I would never kill you, just because I’d be way to lazy to dispose of the body.”
I giggled, though I probably shouldn’t have. It was so true.
He continued. “I’d be like….’Aww, man! I wish Katrina was here to do this for me!””
I couldn’t stop laughing. The whole scenario seemed eerily similar to Scott’s smoothie making process. Scott would suddenly enter the kitchen. There’d be five minutes of chaos and noise, causing Jolie to run under the bed and take cover. And of course, there would be spattering. Lots and lots of spattering. Finally, I’d spend half an hour cleaning up the entire thing while Scott took a nap.
“So, wait…” I snorted, “You’d never kill me because then you wouldn’t have me there to dispose of my own remains?!?”
I was practically rolling on the floor laughing at this point. I may have even peed a little.
“Pretty much.” he smiled.
Then suddenly, his face became more serious. Irritated, even.
“But you know what?” he bellowed, “If I were to kill you, everyone would instantly take your side. Obviously, there would be no question as to who was responsible. But if you were to kill me? Everyone would still take your side! They’d be like ‘Oh…it was self-defense!’ even if it wasn’t, or ‘oh that poor thing…he was such a monster!’ No matter who killed who, or who’s fault it was, you would come out on top, because you’re everyone’s favorite.”
“Pretty much.” I smiled, trying my best to take this twisted hypothetical story line as some sort of compliment.
He rolled his eyes. Clearly my popularity had upset him.
“It’s alright,” I said softly while rubbing his back, “Neither one of us are going to kill each other, so we don’t have to worry about it. Okay?”
“I know…it’s just the principal of it all,” he scoffed, “It just isn’t fair.”
Oprah is a pretty generous lady. Giving away vacations and new cars is a huge guesture, and I’m sure all of her fans really appreciate it.
But if she really wants to help people? Perhaps she should consider giving away free therapy to the couples who get sucked into her homicide investigation marathons. That would be something worth jumping on a couch for.
Editor’s Note: I truly hope you all realize this post was a joke. No one is getting murdered. However, I can’t make any promises about couch jumping or salsa throwing.
Also, congratulations to the winner of the jewelry giveaway, commenter #15, Corinne! Corinne is a long-time reader and has an adorable little min-pin that I’m convinced is Jolie’s soul-mate. At the very least, they could be pen pals.
If dogs could write, that is.