![]() ![]() Henry always looks sad when his mom says this. Sally believes with every molecule that makes up her large pink body that somewhere out there is the perfect man for her. Her face always gets a warm glow when she talks about TV love, like it’s going to ooze into her own life any day now. Instead, we wait for the commercials and crunch during the ads while Sally fills us in on whatever we’ve missed since the last episode we watched with her. Sally says the crunching is too distracting. She grips the edges of the bowl, her dimpled arms blocking Henry and me from reaching in to grab a chip, as if we don’t know the rule or might try to break it: No eating during Days. Her huge breasts rub over the top of the metal mixing bowl filled with Doritos she holds in her lap. I close my eyes and feel the cool air against my sweaty face as the opening scene starts. The small air conditioner duct-taped into the only window in the cramped living room hums mournfully over the tragedy about to play out on the TV, as well as the sagging couch the three of us sit on-Sally in the middle, as always. ![]() Henry and I look at each other and telepathically exchange a single, familiar phrase: We are pathetic. Sally hushes us for the opening voice-over. ![]() We’re just in time for the familiar hourglass. Henry and I get comfortable in our usual Days of Our Non Lives positions on his mother’s scratchy plaid couch in their tiny living room. ![]()
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