If My Life Were A Reality TV Show

When I was a child, my parents would often find me delivering a monologue to my stuffed animals, the bathroom mirror, a blank wall, etc. When asked what I was doing, I'd explain that I was “addressing my home viewing audience.” This was in the late 70s/early 80s, before the prevalence of both Reality TV and juvenile psychiatric medications. And, yes, my parents are saints for having put up with me.

However, as the years have passed and with “Reality TV” now a reality, I've had to face the fact that I'm much less interesting than when I was five and that my adult life yields few “must see” moments. I rarely walk around my house in full makeup and heels. José Eber has never come over to do my hair. Movie stars and professional athletes don't drop by to drink and dish. I have no secret children/spouses/identities. I'd never waste good (or even bad) wine tossing it in someone's face. I cannot sing and will not eat bugs.

My daily life as Reality TV:

• The Real World: Middle Age
  
• Iron Chef Microwave
  
• The Real Housework of Albany
  
• Survivor: Trader Joe's at 5:30PM on a Friday
  
• Dancing with the Swiffer Mop
  
• The Amazing Race For a Parking Spot on Solano Ave.
  
• American Idle: I Catch Every Yellow Light on Van Ness Avenue
  
• The Biggest Loser: Eyeglasses
  
• American Picker-Upper and Puter-Awayer
  
• Keeping Up With the Cat Hair
  
• Dustbusters
  
• What Not To Wear
  

Today's lesson: I really hope my husband never sets up a “nanny cam.” (Me: Walking around the house singing the theme song to "Goldfinger," substituting the word "snöflinga.")

Next: It Gets Worse: The Power of Positive Pessimism