Sucked into Reality (Show, That Is)

How many years has Survivor been on TV now? Fourteen, fifteen years?

I remember when it was introduced, and I thought, “You couldn’t PAY me to watch this show!”

I was more surprised than anyone when it became a stellar hit.

Knowing my aversion to all things outdoors, you’ll understand why I can never bring myself to watch more than a few minutes.

Since camping is equal to cruel and unusual punishment in my mind, it is beyond reason to me why people would televise and/or watch and/or participate in such a disgusting spectacle.

Every year I see the promos for it on TV, and my psyche responds with a gut reaction.

“Ewwwwww.” A slight pause. Then. “Yucky.” Often followed by, “yucky, yucky.”

So, you might think I am well protected from the reality show temptation.

Not so.

A couple of years ago, I got sucked into the sleazy-almost-bordering-on-salacious Fox show Paradise Hotel. It was more “spa” than Survivor with gorgeous hotel guests completing “challenges” in the tropical blue water off the coast of a luxurious island.

There was a lot of whispering, conniving, manipulating, back-stabbing, and politicking to see who would win the prize. As I remember it, the prize was some obscene amount of money.

I would watch the show in secret, often waiting until Brett headed upstairs to work on bills or watch his shows. I knew, in my heart of hearts, what would happen if he caught me watching my “trashy” show.

Sure enough, one night he came downstairs for ice cream and saw me mesmerized by the blue glow of the TV and the provocative antics of my Paradise Hotel friends.

He gave me the famous “husband eyebrow raise.”

The look that says, “Hey, you’re a grown woman, and I can’t tell you what to do, but are you sure you want to be watching that? Would the woman I married watch that?”

And that was that. I was shamed by a single eyebrow.

I said goodbye to my Paradise Hotel friends and figured I would be safe from now on.

Uh-huh. Sure.

Well, it has happened again.

Not with Paradise Hotel, thank goodness. But with Big Brother.

Big Stupid Brother.

It’s like a train wreck where I just can’t look away.

Now, these houseguests keep a great deal MORE of their clothes on, but all the other stuff – backstabbing, conniving, and manipulation – is all there.

I find myself siding with alliances. I feel like I actually know these people.

But I don’t. Yet I care who wins. I inexplicably, unapologetically CARE WHO WINS!

Why? It’s not like they’re going to give ME the $500,000.

So, here I am again. Stuck in reality show madness.

I guess it makes sense that I would gravitate to Big Brother as opposed to a Survivor.

The Survivor people are outside on a remote island. The Big Brother people are safely sheltered in a mansion-sized house. The Survivor contestants have to fend for themselves. The Big Brother contestants have food catered in. Both shows, of course, do come complete with friends who will stab you in the back as soon as possible.

Perhaps, best of all, while the Survivor set deals with bugs, humidity, and parasites, the Big Brother house comes fully equipped with flushing toilets, air-conditioning, and comfy over-sized beds.

Which reality show do YOU think I would want to be on?