Reality TV and Me

It's true confession time.
I like TV.
I do.
I like TV for lots of reasons.
It keeps me company, I learn stuff, it allows me to not think when I need to not think, and there are other reasons less exciting than those.
Lately I have discovered Reality TV....like I said in a previous post....I am a late adopter....
Now, living where I live means I am not bound to national loyalties. I can watch neighbors change interiors in 3 different accents in the one evening.
I have no set time for watching TV, so keeping abreast of who is doing what to whom in terms of people stuck in remote regions does nothing for me, but I do like discovering that other peoples junk can be turned into Dollars/Krona/ Euros/ Pounds in the blink of an auction.
As for restaurant trauma shows, there really is no end to the number of exasperated head chefs, crumbling amateurs and bunches of torn arugula appearing on the small screen from every single corner and bolt hole all over the world.
They make compulsive viewing.
They make almost as compulsive viewing as the make-over shows. Be it plastic surgery, a 6 week workout, or a dose of life coaching, nothing sucks me into an hour on the couch with the cat faster than a voice over asking me to " watch as she turns her life around".
" Yes" I say "I'm there. Let me see her naked, and forced to eat broccoli.Let me bear witness to her confronting her overbearing husband, her fear of spiders, her 4th grade bullies. I will weep with her as she wears purple for the first time since she was 18, I will tingle as the bandages come off, I will sigh as she goes on a first date 10 years after her divorce. I am the great voyeur.Let me watch her real life unfold on my flat screen and let me dream of the day when I too turn my life around with the help of a sexually ambiguous stylist and a pair of Spanx"
Now, before you get all 'thing' about the last sentence, just let me put on record that I quite like my life, and where I am in it.
I feel no great desire to be on the telly, and I actually nearly bought a pair of Spanx just the other day, WITHOUT the assistance of a fully grown man in a hoop skirt and pink cardigan.
My point is, with 100 or so channels to choose from, I find myself these days flicking between the 7 or so that offer me the inside view of others peoples lives, and it has me hooked.
It's gotten to the point where I can pretty much guess just how many pounds/years/furniture she is going to offload before the opening credits finish. But still I sit glued, just to make sure.
So, if you are wondering where I am, I'm watching TV.
I will take your call, after she has spoken to her mum/therapist/lawyer/dead uncle/fitness instructor/nutritionist/creditors/potential ex-boyfriend.
Until then, you will have to deal with reality on your own.