A year-ish ago, I tried to get The Husband to watch The Walking Dead with me on Netflix. He refused. There was always some lame excuse (“Some of us work weird hours, HEATHER.” “Some people are tired after work, HEATHER.” “I can’t pay attention to this AND play a video game at the same time, HEATHER!”) Eventually, I let it go and decided that when I had time (Because, after all, my life is just full of free time hoping to be filled with three seasons of a show. Just kidding. That’s a lie.), I’d just watch it on my own. HE DIDN’T WANT TO WATCH IT, he said.
Approximately six months after that, my sister was over for dinner, and the Husband so casually began to discuss The Walking Dead with her. Whoa whoa whoa. Say WHAT?! How did he know ANYTHING about a show he WOULDN’T MAKE TIME TO WATCH?! Well, turns out that in between his weirdish work hours, he was able to pump out a season and a half of the show.
Well, I’m not one to hold grudges (That’s another joke, guys. I love me a good grudge. Or a bad one. Doesn’t matter. I won’t let anything go.) but I was pretty pissed he did this. So much so that I resolved never to watch the show myself. Sure, he apologized, but that wasn’t good enough. He betrayed me. So now, in turn, I would have to take that betrayal out on Rick and his gang of misfits.
I kept that grudge going (and reminding The Husband of said grudge often) for another six months or so. Longer, probably. It felt like a very long time period where I was denied the opportunity to jump into a hot pop culture news item because MY HUSBAND WATCHED SEASON ONE AND SOME OF SEASON TWO WITHOUT ME.
Fast forward to my second month of pregnancy. I was so sick, guys. So, so sick. One day, I could barely get out of bed without having to run to the bathroom. I decided there was no way any work was going to get done. Or that I’d even be able to drive to work. So I called in. Jason was adamant that I spent the day resting, but we were both pretty confident that I wouldn’t.
“Why don’t you just let it go and try to watch The Walking Dead? You have all day. You can catch up!” he offered.
“NEVER!” was pretty much my reply.
I watched him pull out of the driveway and promptly turned on Netflix and queued up Episode 1. Followed 42 minutes later by episode 2. Followed by ALL THE EPISODES. At one point that day – I think I was 5 or 6 deep at this point – Jason came home to check on me. (Fine. He wins points for being a sweetheart thus far in my pregnancy.) I paused it only long enough to let him know that he’s lucky the show is so good and that I was willing to put my grudge aside so that I could get to the point in the series where he left off, so that we could watch together.
I think his plan all along was to get me pregnant so that I’d get sick so that I’d have to stay home so that I’d HAVE to put on Netflix because daytime tv is horrible so that I’d HAVE to start watching The Walking Dead so that I’d HAVE to realize that it’s an awesome show so that I’d have to let go of my grudge so we could watch the rest of season 2 and then season 3 together.
I finished three seasons in three weeks. It’s been about a month since we finished, and I feel empty inside. We’ve tried to fill our nightly void with Season 7 of Psych (If you don’t watch it, you should. It’s hilarious. The banter and references remind me of Gilmore Girls. The first episode is not great. Power through and get to episode 2. And then watch ALL THE EPISODES. So good.) and season 7 of Dexter (It’s normal to have a crush on a serial killer, right?) But guys, it’s not the same.
I miss Rick. And Daryl. And the constant zombie survival plan that Jason and I update while watching it.
(What I don’t miss is Carl. Ugh. Carl!)
How do people wait a whole damn week for a new episode?! Guess I’ll find out in October.