For those of you who don't know (which would be, um, all of my side of the family), I now watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. I think. I'll go check the box...
Yup, that's it. (There are many eras of Star Trek, I'm told.) D and his roommate, Michael, tried to get me hooked back in our dating days. I started watching for him,because he's persuasive, and I loved him, and I could call it bonding. And it worked... kinda. In my opinion, Star Trek: TNG runs hot or cold. An episode can be great (by ST standards, of course) and the very next one ridiculous. I'll admit - I enjoyed an episode in which the holodeck recreated a Sherlock Holmes story for Geordi and Data. (I am aware of how I sound, family. I'd appreciate no comments from the peanut gallery.) I actually cried in another episode in which Data created a daughter, and then had to deprogram (euthanize?) her. It was sad, darn it!
Anyway. So, we're watching an episode the other night after dinner (we both needed some serious down time), and here's what happened. We're in the middle of an episode, the basic storyline is about this lovely young blond intern that joins the Enterprise. She has some super-amazing powers and voips some things from here to there, and (gasp!) the crew discovers she's a Q! (For my non-Trekkie family, a Q is an omnipotent alien race. Don't ask. It doesn't make much sense to me, either.)
Anyway, she goes through some sort of identity crisis. Turns out that nasty alien race killed her parents by playing God and issuing forth a freak tornado over their home in Kansas while they were assuming human form. Poor little blond Q was left an orphan. Not quite human, not quite Q. Or something.
Moving on. The show is not actually pertinent to my story. Here's what I need to say: Star Trek, by now, is dated. (How much can I hate Counselor Troi? Very much.) Everyone looks very late 80s/early 90s. Pretty blond Q-girl was no exception. She even had this little dark brown beauty mark by her mouth, near her chin. Very Cindy Crawford.
As I sat on the couch next to Vid, I sort of admired it. I reminisced a bit about the days when beauty marks were "in", and thought that perhaps her little mole was rather more flattering than the mole above my right eyebrow (which the dermatologist has assured me is no threat). I never really think about my "beauty mark" except when some little kid points out wonderingly, "Why do you have that above your eye?" Then for a day or two I worry, and get over it. Thank goodness, I thought, that Vid doesn't say anything about it.
So just as I'm finishing these thoughts, my dear sweet husband beside me blurts out, "If she's omnipotent, maybe she should use some of her superpowers to voip that mole off her face!"
"What did you just say?" I squawk, and suddenly, my beloved realizes his slip. He apologizes rather quickly, pecks me on the cheek, and I begin to laugh inside.
And even though I'm not in the least bit upset, I'm once again curious if I should go see a doctor. But even more so, I'm disappointed. I'm sure I missed an opportunity to work that situation more to my advantage, somehow.
1 comment:
found your blog via facebook -- yay. and i have to say, as much as part of me thinks there should at least have been some flowers involved after your hubby's slip up, i'm glad to know you are still not enough of a "woman" (you know what i mean) to make him pay!
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