Every Kill Begins with Kay

Attention to all who come here: someone answered my plea and/or appreciated my well-placed mass suicide joke enough to become a follower. This is a big day for me, partly because I was proposed to in a coffee shop this morning at 6:30 a.m. by a person I believe to be crazy. I think this is because he was more concerned with my soft pants (the champions of clothing that they are for all who dare to have an educational experience before 10 a.m.), than he was with our future. But more importantly, I have another follower. You might think to yourself, “Hey, this lovely and caring person decided to follow you many moons ago. Why so late?” Well, that brings me to my amazing update as to what I have been doing of late.

Fearing the TV: To all who know me, these are some strong words. Let’s be real—there is almost nothing that can part me from that box of awesome, but for now I watch with caution. Why, you may ask, my elegant eleven? It is that time of year where not a channel is safe from “Every Kiss Begins with K.” Time for some sub-points up in here. . .

a. You, Kay Jewelers, are forcing me to creep all up in some romantic moment between some moderately good-looking couple in their pajamas. What do they want from me? I would just like to point out that if not for the jingle, this could easily be a herpes commercial (“I have herpes. . .” “And I have no desire to get them in the future.” “To apologize for cheating, I got her this stupid diamond necklace to show her that just because we can’t have sex anymore, I do not resent buying her things and having a good snuggle. . .”).
b. Any child who has ever had the misfortune of seeing their parents make out isn’t plotting ways to see it again, let along hiding behind a corner watching.
c. There is a time and a place for the great gift of jewelry, but any sort of mild disaster isn’t one of them. A cozy cabin lightning storm? Might as well be the crazy All State guy.

If you haven’t seen any of these commercials, I’m sorry to sound like a loon. And I totally get it—cable reception must suck under your rock.