“So, what’s the problem?” he asked.
“Well,” I said, shifting on the couch, “frankly, I’m in Reality Show Hell.”
“And how’s that?” he asked, peering down at me.
“It started pretty innocently. The wife and daughters would be watching a show, while I’d be watching the game over in the Guy’s Room.”
“The Guy’s Room?”
“Yeah, Guy’s Room. You know, flat screen television, overstuffed chair, a bench seat from the original Comisky Park, beer, minor league baseball pennants and an Indianapolis Colt life-size replica helmet. A guy’s gotta have a Guy’s Room.”
“Sure is. Anyway, during time-outs and half-time, I’d go over to see what they’re watching.”
“Okay, and then what?”
“You know, I’m trying to be the Modern Husband and Father, and get all involved in what they’re doing and everything.”
“Admirable. It’s nice that this age has spawned the advent of fathers taking an interest in their families.”
I squirmed a bit on the sofa, sliding a bit on the slick leather.
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” I answered. One of my belt loops hooked on one of the sofa’s buttons. I tried to pry it off without him noticing.
“So the problem?” he prompted.
“I dunno, I’d sit down, start watching the show with them. You know,” I said, looking back at him, “I’m really not sure I can talk about this.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything that you don’t want to. Although you will have to face your fears in order to overcome them.”
I shot him a quick glance. Crazy quack. What the hell was I doing here?
“Uh, that’s not it, really...” I faltered.
“Then what is it?”
I took a deep breath.
“Well, I’d get hooked on what they were watching, sometimes...” Actually, what I was hooked to was the button on the couch. And it was coming loose.
“Oh, sorry. Anyway, sometimes I’d get sucked into what they were watching, and I’d, uh, forget about the game.”
“You’d forget about the game?” He sounded upset.
“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
“So what kind of shows would they be watching?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. It’s all reality show stuff.”
“Yeah, it started innocently enough. You know, stuff like American Idol.”
“Oh, yeah,” he gushed. “Do you remember Clay Aiken?”
“You know Clay Aiken?” I asked. Shocked, I twisted in the couch, and felt the couch button pop off.
“Well, uh-hem, I, uh, know the name,” he said, refusing to meet my eyes. “I, uh, treat many women patients, too.”
“Oh.” I settled back down, parking my butt to hide where the button had popped off.
“Anyway, I started watching Survivor. Then I got sucked into The Osbournes, and My Big, Fat Obnoxious Fiancé. It wasn’t long before I was watching more reality shows than ESPN!!”
He was quiet for a few moments.
I counted a few ceiling tiles.
After a few more moments, I finally turned around.
He was gone!
There was an open door in the back, and carefully I crept up to it and peered in.
To my shock, I saw him covertly watching, (gasp), My Hypocritical Hippocratic Oath-taking Doctor.
When I left, I didn’t bother telling him about the busted button. For what he gets paid, he can replace it himself.
The Adventures of Guy … written by a guy (probably)
The Next Adventures of Guy … more wackiness
The Heat of the Moment
Fang Face (coming in 2009)