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I didn't notice my wife sneaking into the living room. I fumbled for the remote. Too late. I was caught on the wrong channel.
"Again?" She shook her head and tut-tutted. "That stuff isn't real, you know."
"It was just a peek," I whined.
Terry glared at the screen. Two sweaty people twirled in a lumbering embrace, panting and grunting.
"How can you watch this disgusting display?"
I slunk lower in my chair.
On screen, one bulky guy whipped around, ducked and drove his knee into the other brute's toned abs, clutched him around the waist, hoisted him into the air and drove him face-first onto the mat.
"Can it get any sillier?" Terry rolled her eyes. "He didn't lift him. The other guy jumped. You can't throw somebody down like that for real without causing serious injury. But no, he pops up. What twaddle."
I pushed the off button. "Just once, I'd like to be able to watch my show without your commentary. It ruins the fun."
"They're actors," she said. "Professional wrestling is a soap opera for guys with muscles."
"Thank you." I flexed.
"Let me rephrase that," Terry said. "Professional wrestling is a soap opera for guys. It features men with exaggerated muscles, funny hair and weird names. They preen, shout and yell insults. It's so fake."
She settled into the couch and pulled up her favorite political forum on her phone. Soon, the booming voices of preening pundits and politicians shouting and yelling insults filled the living room.
"You don't really believe that stuff, do you?" I said. "They're acting. Badly. It's so fake."
"This stuff matters," she said. "It's real."
"Oh, like the guy who said if he was elected, he'd wrap the whole other side of the aisle into a headlock until they tapped out and lowered taxes. What happened? He got in, taxes went up and no one tapped out of anything."
"It wasn't fair," she said. "He was betrayed by his colleagues."
"Yeah, I saw the same story on wrestling last week when Buffalo Billy turned on his tag-team partner, The Wild Whippet. Whapped him with a steel chair just when the Whippet was going to win the belt. You should have heard the crowd boo."
"But wrestling's make-believe. It's stupid."
"You know that 'Matlock' rerun you watched the other night -- that guy that got shot wasn't really shot. It was make-believe. They're actors. And if Ben Matlock had tried to pull some of that fake lawyer stuff in a real courtroom… yeah, no. Oh, his real name is Andy Griffith, an actor, not a real attorney. Nor was he ever a real sheriff in Mayberry, which is the same as wrestling's from 'Parts Unknown.' But you enjoyed the story. So let me enjoy mine."
My stomach grumbled in agreement. "What's for supper?" I asked.
"Lobster tails, scallops and filet mignon. And a blooming onion."
"Wow!" I sprang from my chair. "Is it ready?"
"Whenever you want it to be," she said. "It's make-believe. Just pretend it's real."
I know a good headlock when I'm in it. I tapped out.
---- Wrestle with Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com, the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or at www.burtonwcole.com.