Last night was one of the most disappointing nights of my life.
I watched the last Lost episode.
And then I cried.
Y’all have no idea. I have spent 120 hours becoming friends with these people! I have been shocked when people died, grieved with them when all hope was lost and rejoiced when the baby was born.
My “amazingly awesome wonderful” husband, who hasn’t watched a single episode until the last 2 nights, decided to find out the ending.
He then proceeded to tell me he knew the ending. A lot. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t really beg him to tell me. I was that into this dang show.
I got the kids fed and into bed.
John started a fire in the fireplace.
I put on my old lady flannel pj’s with the elastic waist so I could eat the whole bag of rolo’s.
I had my giant cup of water.
I removed my nail polish so I didn’t get toxic poisoning while chewing them thru the suspenseful part.
I had everything set just right.
This was my Super Bowl. I cheered them on and yelled at the tv when something happened that I didn’t like.
The whole 120 episodes led up to the worst ending of a series I have ever seen!!
I turned off the tv, spun around to look at John and I really wanted to blame him for the ending because he was jerky enough to find out before I did and then not tell me!
He started laughing and said “I told you so”
I started tearing up and said “I’m so stinking confused!! It’s like the writers wrote this awesome series and then ran out of ideas at the end!”
And then I buried my face in the couch and had a full on cry while he wasn’t looking.
So today, when I have my curtains drawn and the house locked up and I refuse to answer my phone, it’s because my tv life is over. The death of the best show I’ve ever seen.
Except for the last episode.
And I think they let John Bridge write that one.
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