I don’t watch TV, at all, really. A little Netflix here and there, but we don’t have real TV. Because, as I said, we never watch it.
But I remember when I did, as a kid, and I had those moments when I would physically shake my head or roll my eyes or even yell at the character on the show.
“Just tell him you lost the baby!”
And then when the women didn’t listen to me, I’d continue during the next episode with something like…
“See? That’s what happens.”
Lying is one of those things I just can’t do. It’s also something I can’t tolerate – from anyone. It’s the worst offense in our house, by design. And, I’m thinking my utter intolerance for dishonesty is one of the biggest reasons why I can’t get down with reality TV (besides its stupidity), which is generally based on plot twists that involve deceit, confrontation and those awkward on-camera confessionals that include trembling chins and runny mascara.
Not much different from soap operas, which taught me a few things as a kid, the least of which being that people who die are never really, truly dead – even if the person dies in real life. The character can be re-cast or brought back to life from literally any tragedy.
Acid. Fires. Car accidents. Some terrible disease. A kidnapping to a deserted island. I think they covered every possibility except paranormal activity, which they obviously reserved for X Files, knowing they had no shot at competing with that.
And, you should probably be ready for anything at any time. How many scenes did they show of a woman walking through a park, alone – just like walking, and looking like she was ready for the Met Gala? Always in heels. Usually wearing something flowy or satin. Hair did. Make-up on point. They. Were. Ready. For…that chance, unexpected confrontation in the park with the one person who knew what they were up to, or couldn’t go another minute without confessing their love to them, or the bad guy who was ready to seize this glamorous moment.
And for the love of everything, just tell him you lost the baby. I told Ron about that recurring plot line and he couldn’t believe it. As if somehow it was easier to conceal the loss, pretend to be pregnant, find another baby, and convince everyone it’s yours even though it looks NOTHING like you.
I think that might be the only thing that’s transferrable to real life, since we all know that without cryogenics we can’t live forever, and no one ever looks incredible all the time. Just avoid the lie. For good. Say it, the truth. Spit it out. Tell him you lost the baby. Or whatever it is you need to confess. Own it – don’t carry that lie for nine months. Because, beyond being wrong, lies need life support. They can’t survive on their own and that’s too much work for something that isn’t even real.
Besides, trust doesn’t reanimate like a character on a show. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. For good.