the gays of our lives (or, why i will never have my own tlc reality show)

Sometimes I think I should have my own reality show on TLC.  Of course not just me, but my whole family — my husband, our two adopted sons, the dogs, even the cat.  We are just what TLC needs because for all their focus on less traditional families, TLC is really lacking in the diversity department.  Oh sure, they have enough little people, Gosselins and Duggars to populate a small European country, but what The (former) Learning Channel is lacking — what they are crying out for — is a healthy dose of gay drama.  (Cue finger snap!)  And that’s where we come in.

I like to imagine my big gay family would fit right in next to all the little people, multiple-birth families and denim-skirt wearing kids and counting.  I can see it now.  We’d all live together in a Melrose Place-style apartment complex. MP alum Marcia Cross will guest star as crazy Dr. Kimberly Shaw.  I’ll be a gay Heather Locklear and manage the complex from my third floor penthouse while the Gosselins will live on the second floor and the collective little people will take the rooms off the pool.  The Duggars can share the unfinished basement.

Most of the first season will focus on me trying to out-bitch Kate.  B-stories will include my children discovering that the little people are not actually little people and my husband attempting to convince Michelle to trade-in her dime store perm for an inverted bob.  The season will climax with Dark Overlord Jim Bob organizing an exorcism in an attempt to save our gay souls.  In season two the producers will replace the tainted Duggars with a hunky shirtless rugby player named Esteban. Each episode will open with Esteban answering the door wet from a shower clad only in a towel. “Can I borrow some sugar?” I’ll giggle. Cue opening credits…

Of course that’s not reality.

And just as I’ll never realize my other secret dream of appearing in the opening credits of a soap opera doing an over-the-shoulder laugh-smile, I’ll probably never have my own reality show because the truth is I’m just too boring. I may be a man married to another man and my sons may have two dads, but in terms of must-see TV we are a waste of DVR space.  I mean really, who wants to watch two middle-aged men grocery shopping and then later sitting around the dining room table paying bills?  Or my sons arguing over who gets to be first player in MarioKart?  And would it really be interesting for the audience at home to watch me watch Law & Order reruns five nights a week?

Husband: Honey, pause it. I don’t want to miss anything.

Wife: What do you mean miss anything?  The big one fell asleep watching Law & Order reruns again and now he’s snoring.

I may have an ass as big as a Kardashian, but no one wants to watch my sex tape.  Not that I can’t do exciting. I’ve done exciting. We’ve done exciting.  Like any good adventurous gay couple worth their salt we’ve engaged in debauchery. But that was a long time ago.  Before we had kids.  I mean, I was in my 20s; debauchery is expected when one is in their 20s.  But then you turn 30 and being debauched seems like too much work and now that we’re in our 40s it just feels desperate. Also, we have kids now and we’re tired.  Like all the time.

So call the producers!  Fire poor Marcia Cross!  Cancel the hunky rugby player!  Hell, cancel the whole show.  We’re just not that interesting.  We’re just like everyone else.  Besides, I have more important things to do. There’s grocery shopping and bills to pay and a half dozen Law & Order marathons that won’t watch themselves.