I was thinking about Gabrielle in the first series of Desperate Housewives this morning, and her affair with the high school aged gardener.
We live near a high school and they park in our road. When I'm trying to leave with a car full of screaming kids in the morning, I often can't get out of the road without having to wait for them all (and then there's their mothers who insist on driving them all the way to the school gate, even though they're teenagers - no wonder we have an obesity epidemic) and while I'm glaring at them in my rear view mirror I can't help but think of Gabrielle.
It sounds good in theory, and the actor that played John was pretty gorgeous, but the reality is much different. I figure it only worked because she a) found one that spoke in words, not grunts b) found one that looked at least 25 and c) it was a storyline on a TV show. At the end of the day, high school boys are just that: surly, pimply boys, who drop their chip wrappers on the ground, park over the driveway and who coincidently all cluster in groups outside the houses with teenage daughters.
I'm terrified that my lovely toddler will one day be one them; and I'm even more worried that one day my beautiful daughters will be wanting to hang out with them. I'm sure of one thing though, and that is that art will not imitate life with this Hutt Valley Housewife! I'll have my gardeners a little older and broader across the chest, thanks.
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