Have you ever had this experience where you don't exactly watch a show - meaning, you don't sit down to really watch it and enjoy it - yet somehow you end up watching little bits and pieces of a show all the time whenever it's on? Enough so that you sort of feel like you've watched a lot of that show?
That's been my experience lately with the show Reba. Yeah, I said it.
I've never made a plan to watch Reba. I've never purposely sat down and scrolled through the channels hoping to find Reba. I've never written myself a Post-it note that read, "Don't forget to watch Reba!" Yet somehow I end up finding myself watching Reba. Maybe while I'm making dinner or sorting through the mail or petting the dog. I pop on the television and flip to Lifetime and there's Reba, walking around her suburban Houston home getting all folksy on our asses.
There's that ex-husband Brock, Brock's mistress-turned-wife who's dumb, and Reba's dumb ass daughter Cheyenne who is sometimes pregnant and sometimes not, depending on what season is airing in syndication. There's a dumb-ass boyfriend / husband (?) of Cheyenne who is good at football, and I think there's a younger sibling or two who I'm sure are precocious as Hell.
Now I've just typed all that from straight memory. I didn't go to imdb.com or Wikipedia or the official Reba site if such a site even exists. All that information I just provided to you came straight from my brain, courtesy of my memory.
And that is just sad. When I get to the grocery store, I can't remember to buy milk. Why? Because my brain is too busy storing stupid facts about an incredibly stupid show that I know entirely too much about.
Forgot to file our taxes? Blame Reba. Didn't turn off the stove? Reba. Dog didn't get his heartworm pills? Reba Reba Reba.
My world is a sad place to be sometimes, you know?
-- Jennifer Mathieu
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