I've been living with a secret. And it's time that I get it out so that it no longer holds any power over me.
Every single Tuesday morning, I rush out of bed, log onto hulu and watch Secret Life of the American Teenager. It started as a joke, something to kill a little time, mock endlessly. But now, I guess the cosmic joke's on me. Don't get me wrong, the writing is still pretty terrible, but now I find myself wondering what will become of Amy, Ricky, Adrian, and Ben.
Sure, they all have babies and are married or live together and are only juniors in high school. But as someone who was raised on the Brenda Hampton classic, 7th Heaven, I'm willing to suspend belief for 42 minutes in favor of some mindless TV fluff. We don't even have to learn a valuable lesson each week, unless how to guilt your parents into sending over a pullout couch from their furniture store counts as a lesson. I know real teens, and somehow I highly doubt this is their secret life.
Anyway, I just had to get that off my chest. I couldn't live with the shame any longer. If you need me, you know where to find me. It is Tuesday, after all.