American Idol Smackdown

Okay, I have one more story to share from our ‘holiday’ at the coast. And to be fair, the M-I-L isn’t even the antagonist in this particular tale. In fact, if anyone comes off looking like a lunatic, I’m afraid it’s me (and the evil man who tried to ruin my life). Read on for details…

My relationship with American Idol this season borders on obsession. I look forward to Tuesdays and Thursdays with ridiculous glee. I even download the songs from iTunes. We’re a couple weeks behind the US, but I carefully censor my internet surfing (and conversations with my mom) so that I can watch the results show with suspense, and experience the full shock effect when the rightful winner is voted out of the top eight. I haven’t gone so far as to wake up in the middle of the night to call in and vote (though had I thought about that before now, maybe Michael Johns would still be with us), but to say I’m a fan would be an understatement.

So you can imagine my panic when I realized that we would be out of town for the Thursday night performance show (to be immediately followed by the much anticipated Idol Gives Back show). Sure, I knew we could record it and watch it when we got back to Joburg, but I also knew that I would feel very bitter about sitting in some snooty restaurant with the in-laws while the rest of South Africa watched my show. Understanding my disappointment, Roger promised that we would get takeaway pizzas and watch the show in our room at the B&B. We’d have our own little evening of Idol...but of course, the M-I-L likes American Idol too, so it was decided that our Idol evening would be a family affair.

When we check into the B&B, however, Roger discovers - much to my horror – that our TV doesn’t get the right channel. Never one to give up (especially on something so important to his fabulous wife), Roger talks to the owner of the B&B and finds out that the main television downstairs gets the channel. Roger explains that his wife is obsessed with American Idol and asks if we can use the main TV the following night. No problem.

But when we get back to the B&B the next evening – take away pizzas in hand – we find a middle-aged man sitting alone in the dark in front of the television. Roger leaves me in the kitchen hyperventilating while he goes into the TV room to see if the man would mind changing the channel. Roger explains – in his friendly and adorable way of course – that we don’t get the American Idol channel in our room and asks the man if he minds switching the channel. He is welcome to stay and have some pizza with us, Roger tells him, but we’re desperate to watch the show.

“No,” the man declares without expression. “I’m watching the news.”

Roger asks if he wouldn’t mind watching the news in his room – once again explaining that we don’t have that option since the channel we need is only available on that particular television.

“No, I’m watching it in here.”

Unwilling to accept that this man could be so unreasonable; Roger asks the man if he has kids asleep in his room, or perhaps his wife is watching something else upstairs. If this is the case, Roger tells the man that he is welcome to watch the news in our room.

“No,” he says without apology. “I just don’t want to be cooped up in my room.”

“Dude,” my husband says with a smile of disbelief, “That’s kinda rude.”

Meanwhile, I’m in the kitchen close to tears as I listen to the M-I-L’s for once appropriate rant about the horrible man watching the news. My rational self acknowledges that the whole thing is slightly ridiculous, but my psycho self thinks the world is ending. Surely, this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Fortunately, Rational Me gets a grip on Psychotic Me and I assure the M-I-L that really, it’s fine. We are, after all, recording it at home.

Roger comes back to the kitchen. He plans to switch the main cable box with the box in our room so that we can watch what is left of the show upstairs. Of course, the horrible man wants him to wait for a commercial break to make the switch. The M-I-L is fuming. She marches into the darkened TV room to unfurl her wrath. We hear the M-I-L tell him that he’s rude and horrible (which he is). He argues that she is extremely rude – especially for “an elderly lady.”

Do you see me hiding underneath the kitchen table? Because I am.

Just in case I haven’t made it clear…I can’t stand conflict. At the first glimpse of confrontation, I’m overwhelmed with fear, self-loathing, and outright panic. I can’t explain why it happens, but there I am – my heart is racing; I’m sweating. Perhaps the only thing worse than missing Michael Johns’ performance is the potential of my husband or his mother coming to blows with the horrible news-watching man.

“It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine,” I say, sounding eerily like a psych-ward patient, rocking back and forth in a padded cell.

“It’s not fine,” Roger says angrily. “He is in the wrong.”

“But he was here first,” I say, accepting defeat.

“But he’s being rude,” Roger argues. “And horrible!”

“But telling him that certainly isn’t going to change he situation,” I insist.

“That’s not the point,” he says before storming upstairs to disconnect our cable box.

And here we are again. Back to the central difference between my upbringing and Roger’s. Normally, it’s not an issue. Roger is one of the most laid back people on the planet and his go-with-the-flow attitude falls right in line with my if-you-can’t-say-something-nice-don’t-say-anything-at-all philosophy…but not tonight. Clearly, Roger feels very strongly about this horrible man – probably in part because he had promised me that we could watch Idol, and now this news-watching man was forcing him to break his promise. (It’s actually quite sweet, when I think of it that way).

But Roger didn’t break his promise. He successfully switched the cable boxes, and the four of us crowded into our bedroom just as the Idols Give Back show was about to start. Sally, Roger and I laid like sardines on the queen bed while Bryan perched on the chair beside the nightstand. We polished off the pizzas and by my third glass of red wine I wasn’t quite so upset about missing the performance show.

We all have our quirks, I suppose. In my own way, I’m probably just as nuts as the M-I-L. And one day it will be my daughter-in-law telling stories about her M-I-L's irrational fear of conflict and unhealthy attachment to reality TV.