I’m basically one of the only people in the world who doesn’t watch Game of Thrones.
There’s just a bit too much incest, rape and torture for me to pretend I’m into it. Should shrug.
Ironically, I seem to be perfectly fine with the amount of pain and tragedy Shonda Rimes has put Meredith Grey through over the past 100 years (give or take), not to mention all the random sisters and family members that keep popping up every time there’s a lull in drama. And they all randomly end up working at the same hospital, living in the same house like one crazy dysfunctional family. It’s bananas. I KNOW, JUST LEAVE ME BE.
But this isn’t about Meredith, ok? This is about the fact that my husband spent an entire week humming the show’s theme song in preparation of the premiere of the 8th season of GOT.
And, by the way, I’m still irked that they never seem to wear anything to keep their heads warm in some of the coldest looking climates imaginable. Don’t they know how much body heat can escape from an uncovered head?
What was this post about?
Oh, I think I meant it to be about compromise.
Because every Sunday night, it’s assumed that Game of Thrones will be on the family room television. And every Sunday night, I sit there pretending to be emotional support as I just keep my head down, working on other things. I don’t care what’s going on with that lady who has dragons for kids. I don’t care enough to ask why anyone would live in Winterfell year round… or ever. It seems unsustainable with that kind of climate. It’s constantly gray and depressing. They all likely have vitamin D deficiencies, which can be extremely dangerous if left untreated.
I’m mad enough that I even know what Winterfell is.
But my marriage is important to me so I will continue to wait to catch up on my own Sunday night shows at other times. Because compromise. And every Thursday night, it’s assumed my husband will sit in his chair, scrolling through memes on Instagram, and not comment on the highly unlikely amount of conjoined twin cases he’s seen walk through the doors of Grey Sloane Memorial hospital.
We love each other, so we must continue to do these things.
Besides, what else was even on this last weekend? The Masters?
Don’t even get me started as how the only reason golf is on television is to provide background noise for a nap on my couch.