Guilty Pleasure (where I reveal my shallow depths)

During the worst of my nasty cold part of my ‘recovery’ process was binge watching season two of the A&E series ‘Married at First Sight’.

The premise of the show is pretty much summed up in the apt title. Couple are matched by various therapists but they don’t meet until they’re at the altar–cameras follow them around for 6 week weeks as they navigate being newly married to a stranger. After the 6 weeks they decide whether they would like to remain together as a married couple or if they want to divorce. I think the side of me that took tons of anthropology electives in college finds this whole process fascinating.

I don’t want to give any spoilers (this show is available to watch On Demand). But it won’t give away any significant plot points for me to mention one troublesome participant.  There is a male nurse (no gender role judgement, one of my very best friends from college is a male nurse) who concerns me. I am identifying him by profession as I am too lazy to google his name (I’m TERRIBLE with names!!!).  I understand that one of the objectives of this process is to put time in with someone getting to know them and after having peeled back the superficial layers of the figurative onion fall in love with the qualities that matter instead of writing someone off over silly cosmetic things. I get it. That said if I had been paired with the male nurse and he had been lounging with me on night one in a shortie robe I would have wanted an annulment STAT! Especially once he began discussing his eagerness to become lovers (while wearing the shortie robe). Heebie jeebies!


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