On Sunday night, I snuggled into the couch to watch the Oscar broadcast — all by my lonesome.
Hubby Bryan is not an awards fan. He shuns awards shows like watching one would give him the plague. Although I tried to entice him to join me in Oscar viewing by talking up Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin as hosts, he couldn’t generate even a morsel of enthusiasm for a night of TV-watching togetherness.
So, while I had the living room couch all to myself, Bryan chose to inhabit the basement area, which although lacking a comfy sofa still is furnished with a flat-screen TV and a few other creature comforts. Eventually, he made his way upstairs, plopped on the couch and promptly fell asleep, awaking once to grumble, “How long does this thing last, anyway?” before climbing the next flight of stairs to bed.
So I flew solo for the Academy Awards. I oohed and aahed — and occasionally grimaced — over the gowns to myself. I clapped my hands in glee when Sandra Bullock received the Best Actress nod. I really cheered when Kathy Bigelow made Oscar history as the first female director winner. At a few points, there were tears in my eyes — I am a renowned crier, after all — although at least once it was because I laughed so hard at a joke.
For the most part, I enjoyed the Oscar telecast, although it would have been better to have someone with whom to dish about the show.
But I realize that Bryan wouldn’t have appreciated my remarks about the Oscar fashions or shown the least enthusiasm when a favored person won an award. Award shows just aren’t his thing, and I respect that. Shows about overhauling trucks aren’t my thing.
We need to stick to HGTV. That’s something we can both enjoy.