Recently, I spent my first Saturday night in in…2 months(?). The fact that I can’t give you an exact date should tell you that I have a moderately awesome social life.
So, due to a number of circumstances (horrible, horrible Saturday when everything went awry and I knew if I further subjected myself to humanity, sh– would hit the walls), I elected to do myself (and most everyone else) a favor to stay parked on my couch. Of course by staying in, I mean me plus a bottle of Rioja.
Fun fact: Saturday night is a good time to catch up on Liz Lemon and her many misadventures on your DVR. Then when you’re done, Saturday night TV has great TV like Iron Man and Sex and the City reruns. Horrible fact: media planners (evil little 20somethings in my business) have somehow decided that this is an optimal time to air Match.com commercials to us sad spinsters home on a Saturday night on our sofas.
The worst part of said evening consisted of me pouring myself another glass of wine in the kitchen and returning to a commercial of an image of the world’s saddest sea otter on the TV staring at me. The commercial voiceover went on to explain that “if you suffer from depression, then you should consider XX medication.”
Oh hey television, just because I’m home on a rare Saturday evening, that means that I am single, lonely, and suffering from depression? Fine, judge me all you want. But why did you have to bring the sad sea otter into all of this?