So the other night, after Julia was in bed and Randy the perfekt husband was glued to the computer in the office checking his Fantasy scores or something, I crawled into my own bed, remote in hand, all comfy and ready to FINALLY watch the Tivo’d season premiere of HOUSE, one of my favorite shows. (Yeah. I know every episode is the same…strange malady, vicodin-fueled medical jargon, last minute brilliant diagnosis. But hey, I’ve got to feed my hypochondria somehow, and the internet is way too real).  

So I start the show and much to my surprise, it isn’t the same old thing cuz it’s House in a rehab facility that’s really more Cuckoo’s Nest than Promises. No green tea facials in this joint.

I’m kinda enjoying the change. Oh, and there’s FRANKE POTENTE! I’ve liked her since Run, Lola, Run and her great turn on The Shield.

Looks like Greg House is changing his spots…for the good. I don’t buy it. There’s gotta be a twist. House isn’t House unless he’s an addicted asshole. It’s why women find him attractive. Brilliant mixed with jerk makes a potent aphrodisiac. Okay. I’ll bite. What’s gonna happen next? I’m on the edge of my seat. Or rather the mountain of decorator pillows Randy finds completely unnecessary when…speak of the devil.

…Randy walks in. My heart sinks. Not cuz I don’t love him. But because I know he doesn’t love House. He crawls into bed next to me.

RANDY: Whatcha watching?

He knows full well what I’m watching as Hugh Laurie is up on screen with a cane in hand.

ME: House.

RANDY: Oh.

Which is husband jargon for “Not that show. It’s the same every episode.”

ME: I know you don’t like this show. You want to watch ESPN?

RANDY: No, sweetie. I know you don’t like watching sports stuff. Say. How about we watch something we both like?

ME: Okay.

I reluctantly, but good-wifedly, put House (who has just become responsible for a delusional patient jumping off a parking garage!) on PAUSE. After all, marriage is about compromise. And my husband has made a nice compromising gesture.  I hand the remote to Randy.

He begins flipping. Channel. After channel. After channel. After a few minutes he proclaims… 

RANDY: There’s nothing good on Saturday nights.

He’s right. There isn’t. Expect maybe for that Tivo’d episode of House!

TONI: You’re right. I guess I’ll just go to sleep.

I roll over. Close my eyes. After a beat. CLICK!

And the sounds of ESPN roll over me… Ah. Marriage.

P.S. I STILL haven’t seen the whole episode of House.