OK, confession time. I’m one of those sad sacks who is completely addicted to Grey’s Anatomy.
I love it. Since it’s about smart people, it’s not really a soap opera, right? Of course not. I’m learning about surgery. I know all about CTs and gigantor tumors. It’s educational. Oh, who am I kidding? Do I care about all the Whipple procedure or stand-still operations? Hell no. I wanna know about Meredith and McDreamy and sneak in a good cry when no one’s looking.
I am pathetic.
I’m not like this. I don’t like TV. I don’t even have cable, but I want to hook it up so that I won’t miss a single moment of the high times at Seattle Grace.
Just read this recap of last night’s season premiere:
Despite all that emotion, the show’s writers seemed determined to keep last season’s romantic plots from turning the episode into pure soap opera. They reminded us that this is, in fact, a medical drama by throwing both the plague and a dying baby into the mix.
They needed the plague AND a dying baby to make sure that it didn’t devolve into pure schmaltz.
No wonder I’ve never done anything with my life. I’m a secret sad sack soap addict.