My Afternoon Addiction

An addiction has an insidious way of sneaking up on a person. At least it did in my case. I told myself I could walk away at any time. I said I did it just to pass the time. It meant nothing. But then I found myself getting a little anxious one day while waiting in line at the grocery store.

"God, why can't that cashier move faster?" I said to myself while giving her the fish eye in the hopes it would prod her to scan those cans a little more quickly.

My heart started beating faster as I stuffed the bags and the baby into the backseat, nervously checking the time. It's almost one o'clock and I have to get home.

"Days of Our Lives" is about to begin, and I don't want to miss any clues as to what started the vendetta between the Bradys and the DiMeras.

My God. Am I really addicted to a soap opera?

For this, I blame my husband.

He kept telling me I had to rest while our son took his afternoon nap if I was going to work nights. He said I was running myself ragged and that he was worried about me. (It is true. I would just keep cooking, cleaning, gardening, anything but resting during my free time.)

The trouble was I couldn't sleep in the middle of the day. So I turned on the boob tube. I needed something to force me to lay on the bed for an hour. I never thought I would actually get hooked.

I never had any desire to watch soap operas when I worked full time. Let's face it, the story lines are a bit far-fetched and the constant repetition of the latest plot can be mind-numbing. On the other hand, I like being taken to a fantasy world where everyone's hair and makeup is perfect and the actresses wear all the latest fashions. I can lie there and wonder what the handsome actors are like off-stage and whose love interest I would play if they wrote me into the script. (I don't think there's much work for a Diaper Diva so I'd probably have to change my whole m.o.)

Spending a lot of time at home with a baby can be lonely. So, it's no surprise that many women find an hour's solace in daytime television. There's something comforting about seeing the same faces day after day.

The first step to recovery, though, is admitting you have a problem. I recently fessed up to my husband that this soap opera obsession was becoming the focal point of my afternoon.

Then, my real-life hero came to my rescue once again. He knew just what to do. (He apparently battled the same demons when he was a college student.) Now, he sets the VCR each morning to tape the show in case I can't be home to watch it, and then we watch the show together on the nights I don't work.

If only the Bradys and the DiMeras could find an answer to their troubles with such ease.