How Can a Man Sit Through the Bachelorette? - 12 Ounces of Pure Mexican Coke

It's 9pm.  Do you know where your kids are?

Yes, yes I do.  Thanks for asking and assuming I'm a crappy, negligent parent.    She's in the bedroom - not screaming, not crying, not whining, not gurgling - just sleeping.  Sumie and I had heard stories of babies going to sleep each night at 7:30pm and then waking up at 8:00 each day.  That's all we think such statements are now: stories.  If Mimi goes to sleep before 9:30 we're thankful.  If she wakes up after 7am, we're ecstatic.  Usually, however, we're just sleepy when morning comes around. 

With Mimi in bed at a reasonable hour tonight we have the option of watching a little network TV and not slavishly relying on Netflix Streaming (which is a godsend).  It's Monday night, though, and so we have a problem:  The Bachelorette is on.

When it comes to TV and movies I think I'm fairly open for a guy.  I've been won over to Glee (I have a soft spot for Broadway tunes) and can make it through the vast majority of romantic comedies if I don't have an out (I also have a soft spot for Hugh Grant.  Infer what you must, but I stand by it.)  But, I absolutely draw the line with two genres of television my wife tends to like: entertainment news and reality tv. 

And it's not like I don't let her watch such shows.  I do.  I just tend to make them impossible to enjoy because I'm constantly yelling at the television screen.  Most psychiatrists would probably believe I'm bordering on psychotic behavior.  I would have to agree.  I can't control it.  This behavior often results in a "discussion" of intrinsic values in the programs Sumie and I watch, which invariably leads to me arguing that "Top Gear" is a far better show on all fronts - writing, direction, culture, etc. - because the hosts drive cool cars and occasionally make references to Monty Python or the war.  Yes, I know it's a weak argument. 

Shows Sumie likes and I can't abide have always been a point of contention in our home, but with Mimi it has gotten more intense.  There's only so much time the two of us have together.  Well, maybe that's not the right way to look at it.  There's only so much free time we have without Mimi.  How that's spent becomes a very personal matter.  We're both looking for what is going to give us the best downtime; the best means of clearing our heads and distancing ourselves from the stresses of the day.  For Sumie, on a Monday night, that's The Bacherlorette.  For me, let's just say it's virtually anything else. 

I have to find a way to get through this, though, for Sumie's sake.  I think I've found it.  I've been reading some Bret Easton Ellis recently and the solution suddenly came to me while I was walking Mimi home from daycare.  What I needed to make it through the night was a hefty serving of pure, unadulterated, Mexican Coke.

Luckily for me there's a bodega one block up from my house that always keeps some on hand.  It's expensive - $2.00 a bottle - but good God, what a difference.  The stuff is like liquid crack.

I genuinely don't understand why we had to deviate from the old-fashioned soft drinks we used to have when I was a young kid.  They really are much better.  Glass bottles, real sugar - it's nostalgically tasty!  Beyond that, I've found that when I purchase the original stuff, the Coke imported from Mexico in 12 inch glass bottles, I enjoy it far more and drink far less.  At most I may have 2 bottles in one day.  This is partially because of the cost, but also because it's just harder to drink quickly from a bottle.  It forces me to savor it.  I honestly believe that if we were to switch back to glass bottles (no 2 liter bottles or massive 24 packs) and tastier, cane-based soda, we'd take in a lot less soda as a nation and probably be a bit healthier for it. 

And, far more men would readily allow their wives to indulge in the occasional show they can't stand.  That proper, pure cane taste just washes away the pain.  Oh, and writing an entire blog entry while the show is on doesn't hurt either.   

Steve