Dave was perusing Netflix on Sunday morning when he saw The Walking Dead and asked if I would mind if he watched an episode. I was crocheting an afghan and only half paying attention, so I said sure. I perked up when I realized the main character is the guy who was in love with Keira Knightley in  “Love Actually,” and Dave instantly regretted watching with me in the room because I had to tell him all about that scene where he holds up the signs that tell Keira that he secretly loves her even though she’s married to his best friend who kind of seems like a giant douche, and also that it’s probably really hard for him to do a southern accent on account of he’s British. When Norman Reedus showed up a few episodes in, I was warned that if I started talking about The Boondock Saints I’d be punched in the throat so I managed to not tell him that he’s not actually Irish, and was born in Florida.

Somehow we watched for 10 straight hours without Dave making good on his throat-punching threat, and we really only stopped for the night because I realized that if I followed my heart and quit my job so I could watch every single episode uninterrupted, I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent. I did consider briefly the fact that our city library has free wireless and I could technically live in my car in the library parking lot and watch on my laptop, but there would be nowhere to plug in my Keurig so I decided against it. For now.

Ironically, the night before we had discovered that season two of Portlandia was available on Netflix, and we laughed really hard at this skit. Basically, Netflix predicted our future.


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