Disturbing moment this afternoon. Turns out that I am completely obsessed with Hugh Laurie, who plays the eponymous main character of my favorite TV program, House.
In case you don’t know already (and what on EARTH is the matter with you if you don’t? It’s only been hailed as the best show on television!), House is a medical drama primarily involving a crabby antisocial doctor who bears more than passing resemblance to Sherlock Holmes, both in his brilliance and his drug addiction. Every Tuesday night, Greg House manages to comment on his boss’s rack, hit someone with his cane, alienate his only friend (that adorable kid from Dead Poet’s Society, all grown up), insult his partners, irreversibly offend his patients, play his Gameboy obsessively, and, somewhere in there, to diagnose and cure a mysterious (and sometimes heretofore unknown) illness that had the rest of the hospital staff totally stymied.
I suspected the obsession during last night’s episode, which probably was not but definitely should have been titled (á la Friends) “The One Where House Has To Decide Whether Or Not To Make Out With Sexy Blonde Jailbait.” If you’ll indulge me, I’ll give you insight into my entire thought process during said episode:
On Screen: (House blustering around, comparing autistic child to monkey, making sheep’s-eyes at Jailbait, commenting on Dr. Cuddy’s low-cut top, etc., etc.)
Me: Wow. That Dr. House is pretty. Love him. Lots. Wonder if I could get a walk-on role on the show and hide myself in his trailer. He’s only 8 years younger than my mother. Huh. But has two sons. Interesting possibility. Would he be more or less attractive with English accent? Stoppit. Must pay attention to show. (10 minutes pass without another thought.) Wow. That Dr. House is pretty. Love him. Lots. (Etc.)
So, you see, this has become a problem. I have a full month to attempt to conquer my addiction, since evidently baseball playoffs will be taking the place of Fox’s primetime lineup until the end of October. Augh!