House Hunters

So my husband and I rarely watch television together anymore. I remember when we were first married, movie night was a lovely mix of action and romance. We’d rotate between Meg Ryan and Arnold Schwarzenegger (pre-politics era). They were the good old days when my darling appreciated funny, kissy movies .

Oh how times change.

Don’t ask me why, but over the past few years, every time I bring a romantic comedy home, he kisses my cheek, tells me to enjoy the show, and heads to the internet to see if BYU’s Cougar Board has updated itself in the last ten seconds. He’s very sweet and polite about the whole thing.

I hate it.

(Can I add that this sometimes feels like a personal rejection? That by rejecting romantic comedy, he’s rejecting me since I’m kind of romantic comedy live and in person. I should tell him that sometime…next argument, for sure.)

Anyway, there are only three shows (aside from the random action flick) that we watch together: 24, The Office, and House Hunters International. There, I said it. We’re totally addicted to House Hunters. We tape it every single night and watch reruns religiously.

We tell ourselves we’re just doing research, since our next move will be overseas (1-2 years). But who are we kidding? We’re addicted to the suspense. Which will they choose, #1 with the roomy kitchen, #2 with the big back yard, or #3 with the classic Siberian charm? We sometimes pause it right before the big reveal to go over the pros and cons, then bash them relentlessly when they fail to choose wisely.

My favorite aspect of the show is how every single buyer wants “space to entertain”. You’d think the entire world was full of dinner parties the way people talk. They’re convinced that the only reason they’re anti-social is because they don’t have enough room. Trust me, each and every one of them is completely deluded. None of them are having rolicking parties just because they purchased something with a “great room”.

I know this from experience. When we bought our first duplex in grad school, we entertained religiously, always having parties and game nights. It was cramped but it was fun.

Then we had kids.

The End.

So if you’re not social, don’t blame it on your house. Blame it on those blasted kids that constantly mess up your great room with things like jam covered bar stools, and permanent marker on your newly painted white built-ins. And the whole, “If you build it” bit? They will come, all right–”they” being loads and loads of neighbor kids who want to bring their sticky fingers over to play at your big, roomy, “party” house.

Hey, it’s a life.