Sam and I started watching Mad Men a couple months ago after we finally pulled ourselves from a nearly 7 month mourning period over Lost. At first we weren’t impressed. I was annoyed with how glamorous Mad Men made smoking, drinking, sleeping around, and being a general douche look.
It wasn’t Lost. I didn’t want it. Take it away.
But then. Then, well, we got hooked. I don’t remember how or where, but it suddenly became the show we had to see after Bella went to bed. We’d make popcorn and tea, then discuss it while watching, saying things like, “Why is Don so awful to Betty?” and “I hate Pete and his large head” and “This show makes me want a cigarette.”
One night Sam blurted out, “Dear Lord, Joan has the biggest boobs I’ve ever seen.” And instead of getting mad, I totally agreed.
Because HELLO. She does.
I rooted for Don and Betty to both pull their heads out and make it work. For Don and Roger to be friends again. For Don to realize how great Peggy was. For Don to stop smiling completely as something about his eager, puppy dog smile makes me want to throw my tea mug at his face.
I’m not a huge fan of Don.
But we got sucked in. I loved it more than Sam, but there was nothing better than curling up with him at night and having him become engrossed in the episode with me. I think he has a crush on Betty and Joan but so do I – so it’s all good. Except that Betty turned into a real whack job in season four.
I have no man crushes because I dislike them all, as interesting as I find the men’s characters. Don could be a man crush if he’d stop smiling.
Tonight after I write this, I’m watching the season four finale. And since I don’t see new episodes on Hulu, I will be falling into a black hole of despair and longing as I wait for Netflix to deliver me season five.
And perhaps also deliver me a pair of boobs just as large and perky as Joan’s.