Posted on: January 7, 2015 Posted by: vudfc Comments: 0

I hate living in an age in which men are not men.  Seriously, it makes me so mad.  All guys want to do nowadays is shop and watch their girly shows.  Shows like Downton Abbey.

Is there anything worse than Downton Abbey?  Oh my silly wife likes it, so sure, I watch along.  I’ll laugh at some of the funny lines, but really it is just to be nice.  And yeah, I’ll cry at the sad parts, but that too is just a graceful way of telling my wife it is okay to cry if she feels the need–I don’t want her bottling up all those feminine hormones or anything.  I don’t really mean the tears at all.

I don’t care if Cousin Matthew Crawley and Lady Mary ever get married (Is that even their names? I really can’t remember.). So what if Anna and Bates are forming a riveting type of joyful tragedy in which they can only be happy with each other despite the grave misery being with each other brings on? It’s all a bunch of nonsensical time-wasting.

And I only make us watch four or five episodes in a row on the collector DVDs I bought (I bought them because I knew my wife would probably just go out and buy them anyway if I hadn’t.  Plus I was already at the mall for the end of season scarf sale) because I want to get them out of the way.  I don’t want it to be some long, drawn-out process causing sleepless nights of worry concerning Lady Sybil and all the rest. Not that I even care about her or any of the sappy lot.

I’ll tell you this, though, I am about sick of talking to my wife and friends about the stupid show.  Oh we’ll dialogue about what’s coming next or the flawlessness of the costume design or writing or yadda yadda yadda.  I’ll go on and on about it for hours, even to the point of having my wife demand we talk about something else . . . doesn’t she realize I’m doing this for her?  I mean all of this is just to be kind to the fairer sex.  Does she really think a man’s man like me could fall prey to a perfectly-wrought period piece that makes one escape to a simpler time only to find out it is not simpler at all?

I’m sick of the whole darn thing, really.  I’m telling you, I’m done with it.  I’m done with keeping up appearances and acting all enthused.  That’s it.  I’ll finish up the fifth season and watch if any other dumb seasons come out, and then I’ll re-watch all the episodes, if she absolutely makes me through words or if I just sense that she may kind of want me to watch them again, even when she is away for the weekend.

But I’m telling you, that’s it.  After that, I will leave Downton forever (thankfully).  Don’t mind the tears when I go, it is only tears of joy for being done with it all. Give me some alone time–with my joy, of course–and after that I’ll be ready to move on into a more manly endeavor.  And now, with these new scarfs, that manly endeavor can involve the cold if need be (and if hot cocoa is available).

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