I broke Steve

“Did you hear the news?”

“Yes, it’s terrible. I was going to call you, but I didn’t want to bother you at work.”

“It’s so sad. I hope her baby has a good home.”

“Her son just died, too. How untimely.”

“Well, I better get back to work. I just wanted to share that with you.”

And we both hung up. No names were mentioned. No actual mention of the thing we were talking about. And this, folks, this is why I love my man so very, very much.

When Steve and I met for the second time at a friend’s party, we fell in love that night, spending hours excluding fellow party-goers with our discussion about opera and Maria Callas. Very highbrow, no? Fast forward over three years and what do you have? A couple who calls each other when cheesy reality stars collapse and die. Anna Nicole Smith – we will miss your platinum locks, your slurred words and your boobalicious figure. Really. We will.

Steve and I are now the couple that eats up the reality TV world. And the funny thing is, it’s Steve more than me.

When we were moving, we were debating whether or not to continue our digital TV/ HDR subscription.

“Can we still watch American Idol?” Steve asked, brow furrowed in all the seriousness that such a question necessitates. I just laughed at him, guffawing when he continued with the question, “Well, what about Beauty and the Geek?” before noticing my response. “What?”

I’ve created a monster. I took an IFC – History Channel watching Englishman and turned him into a reality show fiend. He doesn’t even get excited about episodes of The Closer or Monk anymore. When he’s had a bad day, I know exactly which show to access to put his mood aright. I might as well be doing something naughty to him for all the pleasure he harvests from these shows.

Last night we were lying on the sofa watching one of the final episodes of Beauty and the Geek. We’d just returned from visiting the school I really want Audrey to attend, and I’d already told Steve that the Swine and the whole school thing was going to have to preempt my planned post on his reality show addiction, but what happened next and the conversation we had this morning (he called me, by the way), ensured him today’s spot.

So anyway, there we were watching BATG, when he got up during the commercial break to tend to his laundry. I hate commercial breaks, and I couldn’t fast forward to the commercials, so I turned off the show and put on the Hills, which we used to watch together, but since he works so much now, I’ve been savoring it on my own. It was a particularly juicy episode of the Hills. Heidi went to dinner with Audrina, who told Heidi to watch out because Spencer was totally hitting on her behind Heidi’s back. Steve came back and I filled him in on all the drama, and just before the commercial break, they teased with Heidi staying home from her planned trip to Colorado and going to the same club where Spencer was hanging with some blonde playboy pinups.

Steve hopped up from the sofa and literally skipped to the kitchen to turn on the kettle for some good ole PG Tips, and then he actually sang a song that went something like “Yippee, yippee, there’s going to be some drama. Spencer’s going to get it.” There was more, but my hysterical laughter kind of outdecibeled his chanteuring. When he returned, he said, “Rebecca, I don’t think we have enough drama in our lives. We need to move LA because we’re missing out.”

See? How can I not love with my whole heart the 44 year-old Englishman whom I’ve converted into a dancing, crap-TV nut?