THE
HUMOR
COLUMN
|
© 2004 Brian Hodges - Please do not remove the copyright from this essay
Those
tapes were a blessing. Who
knew that a song by the Rembrandts could turn a Jersey girl on so
much? Throughout two years of courtship and dating,
in addition to scheduling our Thursday nights around the eight o’clock
hour, Lauren and I spent many a rainy Sunday afternoon cuddled in
my apartment forsaking football to visit with Ross, Rachel, Monica,
Chandler, Joey and Phoebe. We
took comfort in the familiar situations as we quoted lines along
with the show: "We were on a break!
Smelly cat… Smelly
cat… How you doin'? Could I be any happier?"
We even developed our own private Friend-ly
shorthand. We tapped our fists at each other when the
other person made us mad. Whenever
her brother caught us kissing, we’d both say, “Get off my SISTER!” And we’ve never helped any real-life friends
move furniture without shouting "PIVOT!" over and over
again. It was so cute and adorable and fun and it
seemed so harmless. Isn’t
that how all addictions start?
The
tapes eventually made their way into Lauren's house where she literally
watched them to death. She watched them while she ate. She watched them while she did chores. She even watched them while she slept. Her VCR had a special feature that would automatically rewind a
tape and start playing it again.
No matter what time Lauren woke up during the night, her
Friends were always there. Over
and over, all day, every day the tapes ran until finally one of
them shredded itself inside the VCR, unable to take it any longer
apparently. I
was conveniently over in my own apartment, head buried in the sand
to Lauren's growing addiction.
I figured it was only a matter of time before the last two
tapes went the way of the first. But then a new trend in home video entertainment
began. TV shows on DVD.
Now,
four years later and into our second blissful year of marriage,
I'm kicking myself for ever having made those stupid tapes. I mean I like Friends as much as the next guy, but now every
evening we watch those
DVD’s during dinner. Every
night, we fall asleep to the sounds of Friends
in the bedroom. Lauren has
gotten so used to that comforting white noise that she simply cannot
fall asleep without it anymore.
I’ve begged and I’ve pleaded, “Please, tonight can we just
listen to music or something?” I
know I’m partly to blame. I
can’t claim ignorance anymore.
I’m Lauren’s enabler. I
see what’s happening and yet I haven’t tried to stop it.
I buy her each new season the day it comes out.
I see how happy they make her and I just want her to have
them. I’ve even recorded several episodes to audio
tape so that she can listen to them in her car. There isn’t a facet of life now where Lauren has to be without her
Friends. We
watched the final episode last Thursday like everybody else in America. I had been dreading this moment all year, worrying
about how Lauren would take it.
I admit I felt a twinge of sadness when the end credits came
up, but Lauren actually broke down crying.
I thought about trying to comfort her but held back, figuring
the heaving sobs might help put her into labor.
But after fifteen minutes, I got scared and stuck in a season
five disc to calm her down. The
show is over as far as the networks are concerned, but I know it’ll
never be over for Lauren long as those DVD’s are around. In fact, the end of the show has probably only served to fuel her
addiction even further. Can
DVD’s wear out like VHS tapes I wonder? So
thank you Friends for the past ten years. But curses on you and your DVD’s for the next
fifty. Maybe I’ll just start
buying Lauren crack. |
sk
my wife Lauren if she can pinpoint the exact moment when she knew
that she was in love with me and you won’t hear a story about some
grand romantic gesture on my part.