We don’t watch much TV.
Tivo has basically given up on us and only tapes kid shows.
But this week, in the hotel, it’s trash TV central. We were watching the Joy Behar show last night. The topic was divorce. High profile divorces. Marla Maples. The gay NJ Governor’s wife, the chick who got dumped for Tori Spelling. Lance Armstrong’s ex.
HT and I sat slumped on the couch in a day 8 coma, my body flopped over his.
“If you ever decide to leave me, I want you to fake your death,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“That way I could go on believing you loved me.”
“You are insane,” he said.
“Will you fake it?” I pressed.
“Yes. I’d do that for you,” he said.
“I want you to do that for me too,” he said.
“Aw. Of course I would.”
Smiling, I snuggled in closer to him.
“At least then I’d get the life insurance money,” he said.