(When I typed the title for this post, which isn’t a real word, spell check recommended “Document Aryan.” I guess a "Document Aryan" would want only white paper?)
It is always 1944 in our house.
Planes are droning overhead, bombs are being dropped, and soldiers are landing on Normandy Beach.
I do dishes while gunfire rings in my ears. I fold laundry to speeches by FDR. I serve dinner while Allied troops parachute out of rickety planes.
My name is Ann-Marie, and my husband is addicted to World War II documentaries.
It’s an honest addiction, as far as addictions go. Brett’s fascination with World War II stems from many factors. His uncle was in the war, and his father (also an addict) raised him watching WW II retrospectives on the History Channel.
War also involves various types of firearms and ammunition which ties firmly into Brett’s other hobby.
Since we are too poor to afford even the cheapest cable package, Brett went into History Channel withdrawal shortly after we were married. Then he started saving up and buying one WW II DVD set after another.
Now, he’s amassed quite the collection. It takes up two large shelves of our DVD holder. And every time there is “nothing” on TV (this is regardless of whether I think there is “something” on TV or not) he whips out a new WW II DVD and settles in to relive the darkest days of 1944.
So, there you go. He’s a bona fide documentarian.
At first, I was okay with my husband’s hobby. I always think, “There are worse things he could be interested in…like taking me camping.”
But, I have to tell you, after seven years of constant gunfire, plane engines, and FDR speeches, it’s getting a little old.
Every time I hear, “My name is Roger Mudd! Welcome to the History Channel!” I want to SCREAM!
The other day Brett popped in yet another DVD. This one promised us a first-hand look at the Normandy Beach invasion. Let me tell you, I’ve seen Normandy Beach so many times, I feel like I own a second home there. Which is constantly under attack.
I finally had enough. I asked Brett if he could please put another DVD in. “No more documentaries, please! Just a movie,” I pleaded. “Any movie!”
“No problem, babe.” He turned off the beginning of the Normandy Invasion, and I was treated to the sounds of silence as he chose another movie.
I put on my comfy pajamas and cheerfully popped some popcorn. Then, I headed into the living room and settled down to watch a movie with my husband.
He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a big hug as we settled in to watch…Saving Private Ryan.