Those of you who follow me on Twitter may have caught my reaction to the series finale of Dexter last weekend. Yes—I spend my Saturday nights lying in bed with The Boyfran watching TV shows that have been off the air for over a year.
On the off chance you haven’t seen the show and are planning to eventually watch, I’ll try to avoid any spoilers. Let me just say… it was terrible. Easily on the list of things I never want to experience again:
1. “The Notebook” by Nicholas Sparks
2. Being a woman in Turkey
3. Going to the DMV
I mean, I was pretty upset by the end of LOST but that was more of a disappointment because I felt we’d been let down by storytellers. But this fairly shallow and unrealistic TV show on Netflix made me lay in my bed and cry like a baby, saying “why, why, why?”
It was like Marley & Me meets Million Dollar Baby but all the characters you’ve followed end up having lives that never mattered and mean nothing.
It was 11PM and I suddenly realized this was a perfect time for The Boyfran and I to make decisions about life support and whether we’d pull the plug on each other in that situation. I mean, we’ve been dating over a year, isn’t it time for the serious conversations, especially in light of Dexter?
It was about this point that The Boyfran realized he was probably safest to just remain quiet and let me thrash about, throwing my hands in the air and questioning the purpose of the lives we lead. But then something happened that he simply could not accept.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR HANDS!”
I was alternating between wiping my face and waving them in the air so I didn’t catch his meaning.
“WHAT IS WRONG? EVERYTHING IS WRONG.”
“No, your hands—what are they doing.”
I held them up for display and he gasped.
“They aren’t supposed to bend like that, that is not okay. YOU ARE NOT OKAY.”
“I know I’m not okay! We’re all going to die and nothing matters!”
He held his hands up next to mine.
“This is what hands are supposed to look like, I don’t know what yours are doing.”
I paused in my wailing and compared the two, stretching my fingers further backwards and eliciting a frightened yelp from The Boyfran who had to roll away in disgust.
“That is not okay!”
I couldn’t help giggling, assaulting him with my bendy fingers. I’d never realized this was supposedly not normal and suddenly I felt incredibly special. I wouldn’t need to be Million Dollar Baby’d because I have the bendiest fingers ever, I will survive and thrive in this world.
I was so fascinated by his repulsion that I began trying to do all sorts of other weird things with my hands.
His reactions kept getting worse, which meant my mood kept getting better. I’m learning that in the end, these are the things that keep me moving forward and give my life meaning. I’m still not sure whether I have flexible philanges or if his hands are just stoicly set in karate chop form but I am sure that I’ve gained a trump card to file away in my bag of tricks for anytime I need to retaliate against him. I suppose these moments are what life is all about in the end.
Do you have any weird body talents/double jointedness? What’s something you do that horrifies your significant other? What do you consider the worst TV series finale or movie ending you’ve ever seen?
Want to keep in touch? Drop your email below and I'll send you FULL POSTS anytime I write something new. Only want to know book news? Get on the list here.