Liz shows her sensitive side.
I have no desire to have people suspect I am a dyke, a honky tonk whore, or a women's lib fanatic. Equally disturbing would be the perception of being a wide-eyed innocent who pouted if her parents didn't have a gift under the tree marked "from Santa" or a chick who freaked out if someone rearranged her doll collection. It's tough to be me.
If you're me, you have to balance the fact that you refuse to watch any movie that takes place in Victorian times with an awareness of what hairstyle looks best with what shirt. I know when I have found THE PERFECT earrings for an outfit, yet I am compelled to shrugg it off as totally coincidental if someone remarks on the beautiful pairing. I wouldn't want people to know that I sat around planning what earrings to wear. I would be disgraced.
That's why it's hit me pretty hard to realize that I do have a sappy bone somewhere in my body. I think it's located between my knee cap and third toe, but I can't be certain. It's been hurting all week. I think it's flared up because I have discovered The Wonder Years in reruns on Ion.
The Wonder Years was my favorite show when it came on Prime Time. I think I cried after every episode. But that was when I was a teenager and didn't have the firm grasp on my emotions that I have now. I find that I am with conflict with myself. I love the sarcasm of The Colbert Report, I prefer action movies or comedies to dramas, I'd take a beer over a glass of wine any day, and my dream date is going mud riding then heading to an outdoor AC/DC concert at an amusement park, followed by a poker game and a few keg stands. How can THIS woman be moved by the B+ sentimentality of The Wonder Years? There is something about that voice over at the end of each episode that gets to me. Remember when Doogie Howser would type the closing of each episode on his computer? Same thing. I'd get all emotional.
Tonight's Wonder Years will be the one where Kevin and his math teacher have "a moment". Not a dirty, man-boy love moment, but a touching connection followed by loss. I remember this episode and it starts in 10 minutes. I used to be a teacher. I used to be a kid. I wonder if I'll make it though tonight without tearing up.
I doubt it. But if I do, I'll shrug it off as coincidental. The only thing worse than being a cold frigid bitch is being a person that cries over a 30 minute sit-com.
