For once I get hooked on a series, I’ll never step out of the house until I’ve devoured every single available episode.
I still remember the day a friend loaned me the DVD-box set of Sex and the City, Seasons 1 through 4. I spent the next three days watching one episode after another. When the closing credits rolled on the finale of Series 4, and I finally allowed my eyelids to close completely over my eyeballs and be enveloped by that welcoming darkness, I could feel the world spinning as the familiar piano-xylophone-saxophone theme came on.
Hence, you will understand my trepidation at getting too intimate with the Supernatural anthology.
It isn’t just the seemingly endless hours in front of the telly, it’s how the vernacular and quotes of my fav character(s) inevitably invade my own speech. I spoke with an English accent after BBC’s Being Human, began my sentences with “I posit” after Fringe, signed off on post-it notes to colleagues with XOXO after Gossip Girl, quipped “Honey, they don’t call it a job for nothing” when a particularly arduous task loomed ahead after — you guessed it — SATC.
All that rationalising, though, is now a moo point (Joey Tribbiani from Friends said this!), since Dean Winchester had me when he deadpanned “Agent Mulder, Agent Scully”. I mean, what chances do I have against The X-Files — not to sound like a sycophant — quite simply the best show in the Universe.
On the other hand, I want to believe some good will come out of this. It does, after all, provide me with the chance to expand my iTunes collection, for I wouldn’t have discovered Stevie Nicks without American Horror Story or Sweet Talk Radio without Haven.
So, to all couch potatoes out there, I say pop some corn and roll out the bunny slippers, it’s time to get comfy in front of the telly.