The new television season has arrived, and my wife couldn’t be happier. She likes television. I tend to be in the vicinity, reading a book or doing a crossword puzzle. Her shows play in the background, inserting themselves into and out of my consciousness in much the same way that I probably reappear for her during commercial breaks. I used to see these daily programs as a confusing mass of unrelated entertainment. But I eventually began to notice a pattern. About ninety percent of the shows Maria watches fall into two categories: murder and home decorating.
The murder shows are among the most popular on television. They are always about a grisly and mysterious homicide that baffles the police force for about forty-five minutes, then is solved swiftly in the last quarter-hour, usually through the use of some computer technology that allows people to get any collection of data and information in less time than it takes me to say, “Oh, come on.” (I”m too tired to read by now and I’ve given up on the crossword puzzle, so I’m paying attention to the show, even though I don’t know what it’s about.)
“This is so ridiculous,” I say. “The detective asks for a list of the floor plans of all the houses in Chicago built between 1938 and 1954, and up they come. Or he says he wants the names of everyone who’s ever eaten a bagel, and bam, there’s the list, alphabetized and broken down according to plain, poppy, or sesame. I couldn’t find an itch that fast.”
“It’s television,” my wife explains, as if I didn’t know. I ask who they’re looking for. Usually, a woman has been killed and the police suspect her husband, but they don’t have enough evidence. The husband has been acting strangely unemotional since his wife’s death. Also, he made eighty-seven cell phone calls to the same number on the afternoon of the murder, was seen making out with another woman within hours of the funeral, and was deeply in debt and took out a life insurance policy on his wife just last Thursday. He avoids talking to his in-laws, and has trouble crying when being questioned by police or testifying at his trial. Within the first four minutes of these shows, Maria usually announces that she knows the husband did it, but she continues to watch anyway.
Sometimes, in a creative twist, it’s the husband who is murdered. For some reason, his wife is the last person anybody suspects. Maybe it’s because women aren’t as prone to violence, or because they seem less capable of the physical activities required for killing a man, hiding his body, and disposing of the evidence. Also, wives are better at crying. A woman can burst into tears at the drop of a hat; all she has to do is think of any Hallmark movie, certain McDonald’s commercials, or that time she did drop her hat and the bus ran over it. But women, at least the ones in television police dramas, are extremely sadistic. The problem is, they’re also patient, methodical, and much smarter than their idiot husbands. They do a lot of online research to find out just the right poison to slip into his root beer, one that won’t show up during the autopsy. A man kills his wife by grabbing a crowbar at the train station and chasing her with it. That’s why he’s targeted immediately, while the wife has to kill three husbands in six years before anyone suspects her.
“Why are the men always so stupid?” I ask.
“It’s television,” my wife explains again.
I look over and notice that she’s taking notes. This seems a little peculiar, but I dismiss it and return to my unfinished crossword puzzle. Maria glances over and comments on how hard these puzzles are and how unbelievably smart I am. Then she asks me how to spell strychnine. I like being helpful and I really like that my wife thinks I’m smart, so I spell it, even writing it down to show her. I also mention that cyanide may be harder to detect and has fewer antidotes, and ask her if she needs me to spell cyanide, too. She says, no, adding that she’s pretty familiar with that word, but jots down the phrase harder to detect, even underlining it twice. At this point I turn over and drift off to sleep as Maria watches one of her favorite home decorating shows. These usually involve some loud-mouthed, overly-critical design genius who walks into someone’s home and trashes the place, room by room. By the end of the show, the homeowners return to their transformed house and say “Oh, my God!” over and over and hug the design genius and say how much they can’t believe it. Again, I open my eyes to see my wife taking notes.
The next day, I’m bothered by paranoid thoughts that I can’t quite pin down. They nag at the edges of my mind, following me all the way to the hardware store, where my wife grabs a shovel, an enormous quantity of weed killer, and some paint swatches. I immediately become suspicious — I told you, I’m smarter than most men — and ask her what the paint swatches are for.
“Just thinking,” she says, evasively. But I’m on to her. She thinks I’m going to pull down all of that wallpaper in the kitchen, spend two days scraping and sanding, then paint the entire room, all while she’s out in the garden wasting time trying to get rid of a few weeds.
“You won’t get away with it,” I say.
“Get away with what?” she answers. Again, it’s her evasiveness that tips me off.
“Your little plot. I know what you’re up to, trying to trick me into starting another major project in the house. I keep telling you, we have to complete one thing before we start on another. Now here are your dumb paint swatches. I’m going outside to finish digging that gigantic hole you wanted in the backyard.”
“All right,” she says, knowing when she’s been outsmarted. “I’ll have a nice cold root beer waiting for you when you get back.”
As I dig the hole, an odd mix of thoughts wanders through my head. Mostly, I worry about my wife’s inability to be organized, to follow a plan, to get things done. I know she has me to take care of most of the thinking, but what if I weren’t here? What if something happened to me? How would she get by? I remind myself that we did just increase my life insurance policy, which helps me feel better (and, of course, that much smarter). “She’s probably in there right now,” I think, “watching one of those sappy Hallmark movies and crying her eyes out.”
cooperstownersincanada
September 18, 2010
Interesting piece. I think I’m one of the few people that doesn’t watch crime or detective shows and I have no interest in home decorating. I’m a closet reality TV fan and a big fan of The Office, Friday Night Lights, Curb Your Enthusiasm and Seinfeld reruns. Hopefully, you’re not still out digging the hole in your back yard and can read this comment 🙂 Nice work, as always!
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bronxboy55
September 19, 2010
Thanks, Kevin. I don’t watch much TV myself, but it’s amazing how much it affects my life, mostly through the people I live with.
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Amiable Amiable
September 18, 2010
Ah, the old bait and swatch trick! Naturally, I was rooting for Maria in this post – not that she’d slip something in your root beer, just that she’d cleverly get you off the couch.
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bronxboy55
September 19, 2010
I was hoping you were on my side. If my blog suddenly went silent, I was counting on you to notify the police.
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Amiable Amiable
September 20, 2010
Gotcha covered, Blud.
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heidit
September 18, 2010
Is it wrong that I’ve read this post four times and am STILL laughing? “I immediately become suspicious — I told you, I’m smarter than most men — and ask her what the paint swatches are for.” So funny.
Unlike many people, I only watch one crime show (Bones–I love shows with ridiculously rational characters) and spend almost all the rest of my time watching comedies. Clearly, I’ve found a good place here for to get my fill of humour writing. You are indeed a very funny man.
I wish your wife luck in her home improvement projects and you luck with drinking the root beer.
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bronxboy55
September 20, 2010
We’ve been working on fixing up our back deck for the past month. We actually work pretty well together on these projects, although they tend to take us forever. Maybe we can get on that new reality show, Canada’s Slowest Handyman.
Thanks, Heidi, for the kind words. I’m glad you liked the post.
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Marie M
September 19, 2010
Oh, my gosh! I was laughing so loud and often as I read this that my daughter two rooms away–supposedly studying with two friends–called out, “Mom? Are you OK?” Thanks for a great day-brightener.
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bronxboy55
September 19, 2010
I’m really glad to hear that because I changed it a lot along the way and by the time I was finished, I wasn’t sure if anyone would get it (except me). Thanks, Marie!
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Marie M
September 19, 2010
And I love the text in the cartoons! Especially the second one–“buried in his work” !! BTW, how’s that “gigantic hole” coming in your backyard?
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jharris
September 20, 2010
My husband and I learned early on that we can’t do home improvement projects together. Installing a parquet floor in a tiny room just about tipped us toward marital disaster. Perhaps you should stay away from root beer — it’s got a lot of sugar, anyway, and can mask a variety of bitter additives. And I have to say — this might be one post your wife would enjoy reading. 🙂
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bronxboy55
September 20, 2010
We have the same problem with putting up wallpaper. When my wife decides to do that, I find somewhere else to be. If I helped, it would take twice as long, anyway — like two people changing a diaper.
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Patricia
September 20, 2010
Too funny and what a great writer you are Charles. I must admit I love British crime shows (sorry to all the American readers) and the home decorating programs too so I would get on well with your wife. But I must admit if I am watching them I am usually multi-tasking and tapping away on my laptop or reading posts like this. Not much that holds my attention on our Aussie screens sadly.
Patricia Perth Australia
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bronxboy55
September 20, 2010
I’m surprised Australian TV doesn’t have crime shows, too. Or are they just not very good?
Thanks for the comment, Patricia.
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Patricia
September 22, 2010
We have our own crime shows and heaps of American shows. I just don’t watch them. Prefer the British drama shows instead.
Patricia Perth Australia
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Mitch
September 20, 2010
Heck, I was thinking she was looking at paint swatches for the color she was going to paint the walls to hide the blood spatters. lol
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bronxboy55
September 20, 2010
You know, Mitch, that never even occurred to me. I think you have a streak of evil genius, too.
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Mitch
September 20, 2010
I think I watch many of the same shows lol
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dearrosie
September 22, 2010
You’re a good writer and I enjoyed reading the post. I also don’t watch much TV and you captured the essence of why I don’t watch. I laughed out loud several times e.g. “the homeowners return to their transformed house and say “Oh, my God!” over and over and hug the design genius”…
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bronxboy55
September 22, 2010
I think you and I watch just enough to know what we don’t like. There is some good stuff on television, but you have to sift through a lot of junk.
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shoreacres
September 22, 2010
Your story’s almost as well constructed as those plans being outlined by your wife… Really. Those paint swatches – the perfect foil.
You’re absolutely on target with the predictability of those crime shows. I suspect that’s part of the appeal. They have differences, of course, but they’re the sort of differences that recall those toys of the 50s. Remember? The segmented blocks that had a different figure painted on each side? You could twist the segments to combine the four figures in silly ways. That’s television crime.
On the other hand, even little Ms. I’ve-no-television-in-the-house can occasionally be found drifting down to Mama’s for a dose of “Criminal Minds”. Or NCIS. I’d never wear a dog collar or get a tat, but I may have an inner Abby. 😉
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bronxboy55
September 23, 2010
I had to do a search for NCIS, and I have no idea who Abby is. My wife watched “Criminal Minds” last night, and has been watching it for several years, so I’m familiar with that one.
I remember that toy from the ’50s, and you’re right: it’s an excellent model for television crime shows — and professional wrestling, too, which our son still watches. As soon as they run out of combinations, they introduce a new character.
Thanks for the kind words, Linda.
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shoreacres
September 23, 2010
Ah – Abby’s the forensic scientist who’s a Goth with a heart of gold.
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mostlikelytomarry
October 21, 2011
Just reading through some of your older posts. You are such an awesome writer. I loved this post and thought it was so funny and clever. Looking forward to following more of your posts.
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bronxboy55
November 3, 2011
Thank you, Tammy. I really appreciate that you would take the time and say such nice things. It’s been a little hectic around here lately, which is why it’s taken me this long to reply to your comment. Things should calm down soon, and I promise to visit your blog more frequently.
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