True Love or Truly Whipped?

I'm half-reading, half-listening to something mindless on television (so mindless, in fact, that I can't even vaguely remember what it might have been and it was only 2 hours ago), when Son-Three comes into the living room.

"Mom, are you watching anything?"

I snorted, "Um, no. Why, is something on you wanted to see?"

"Well, I was going to watch that show we watched last week at this time." He's hedging but I can't figure out why.

Okay, I can't remember what I was watching two hours ago, how the hell am I supposed to remember what we were watching a week ago? I said, "And what show was that?"

"Um...you know, that show that we watched last week at this time. Do you know where the phone is?" (Cordless phones are a true marvel in so many ways--I remember when you were stuck in one place while you were on the phone for hours on end, this is way better--but they have a tendency to go missing especially in a house full of teenagers desperately seeking some semblance of a quiet, private place to talk.)

Suddenly it clicked. Desperate Housewives. Last week was the first time any of us had watched an episode and the reason we watched it last week? Son-Three has got a girlfriend and she told him to watch it. They watched it "together" over the phone last week and this week as well.

So, in case you were wondering what could possibly drive a fifteen-year-old boy to watch a chick show, it's a chick, naturally.