Boobs

I have a guilty pleasure. It's "The Girl's Next Door" on E! For some reason, plastic Playboy girls are entertaining. If you're a man who likes women, you've probably got a different sort of entertainment in mind than me. I digress. I find myself sucked in to this show each and every time I turn it on. I really wanted to hate this show, but I can't. Two reruns were on last night and there I sat again, transfixed for the better part of an hour.

Why do I care that Bridget's dog Wednesday has a modeling contract? Oh god, I know all the names!

I felt a little shame about this until I spoke to my friend Paige. Paige is a pretty hardcore feminist. She doesn't wear make-up and I'm pretty sure I've never seen even a hint of her cleavage. Over dinner a couple of weeks ago, she admitted that she watches the show and L-O-V-E-S it. Which is really funny. This is the girl who looked as if she'd landed on Mars when I took her into Sephora. She really didn't know what to do. Those were good times.

Anyway, so I love this damn show. My husband, on the other hand, hates it. Oh sure, he admits to loving the bouncing boobs and all, but it's the talking that gets to him. He can't stand Kendra, and he says the boobs don't make up for how annoying she is. He'd rather have no boobs on TV than have to listen to that boob talk. For this I do love him.

I still make him watch the show from time to time, just to get on his nerves. My TV and music tastes can be pretty low-brow, and I enjoy horrifying him with my choices. What can I say? I'm pretty serious in other areas of my life, so entertainment should be just what it claims to be - entertaining.