I have no shame

Nothing would please me more than to be able to truthfully say “I don’t really watch those reality TV shows.”

I mean, I could say it, but it wouldn’t exactly be true.

With the exception of Project Runway, there are no reality TV shows that I will faithfully tune in to watch week after week. Ooh, except for that BBC America one where Gordon Ramsay goes into failing restaurants. The one where he changes his shirt a lot on camera. I love that one. But that’s not on very often, so it doesn’t count.

However, I am a sucker for the “Reality TV Marathon” phenomenon.

This is a diabolical programming strategy, as far as I’m concerned. Although I would never purposely plan to watch even one episode of House of Tiny Terrors, I will gladly watch four hours of it if the episodes are shown in order. Assuming nothing else is on. And Dan is not home.

It’s very strange. I mean, if you asked me, “Kate, will you please watch four hours of boring families trapped in an ugly postmodern house, where their every move is captured on film, including the kids’ drippy-snot temper tantrums, and a calm British lady who claims to be a clinical psychologist tells the parents what to do,” I would consider punching you in the face.

Yet that is almost precisely what I did yesterday. Although it was more like two hours. And I flipped around a lot. But still.