Frumpy Mom: Yes, I like tacky stuff, ’90 Day Fiancé’ and Kim Kardashian

In case you’ve just emerged from a coma, we have now entered 2024. The first week or two of every year used to annoy me because I kept forgetfully writing the old year on my checks, but now nobody writes checks anymore, so it doesn’t matter. (See below for my email address for the irate letter you want to send me about how you personally still use checks.)

This is the time to make resolutions for the coming year, and I usually try to make some that are realistic and I can feel a sense of accomplishment when I complete them.

Like, eat more chocolate. It’s good for you. Seriously. Look it up.

One resolution I intend to pursue like a bloodhound this year is to stop feeling guilty for liking tacky stuff

See, I have a lot of really smart friends who are interested and care deeply about world affairs. And good for them.

These friends have bumper stickers that say things like “Kill Your TV” and “Climate Action Now!!!”

They recently read the latest book on the epidemic of childhood rickets and then actually want to discuss it over lunch. And these are people who actually read the books they were assigned by their book clubs, instead of just pretending to read them and going for the wine.

I, of course, have never done this. Anyway, I’m not sure why these highly intelligent people want to be my friends, but for some reason they do. Maybe comic relief.

And that means I keep my mouth shut sometimes, like when they’re sitting around discussing how reality TV is the lowest form of entertainment that only cretins would enjoy. At no point do I feel inclined to reveal that my neighbor and I sat up and binge-watched eight episodes of “90 Day Fiancé” the night before.

I just smile nervously and avoid eye contact with anyone, lest they suddenly ask my opinion. At which point I would just mumble something about “Well, some shows are OK.” And then change the subject.

I’m not usually a prevaricator. In fact, people usually have to tell me to shut up because they’ve heard enough of my opinions for one day. But here’s the thing. When I was growing up, I was pudgy and nerdy; my head was always stuck in a book. I couldn’t climb a tree or chase a baseball. I wore clothes that my mom – who hated sewing – had sewn for me, and I was always the last person to be picked for a team.

But I had one thing going for me: I was smart. And I knew I was smart. This does not endear you to the other children, by the way, but I was too busy being humiliated by other things to make a big deal about it. For most of my life, whatever trials and tribulations and insults I had to face, I always knew that at least I had brains.

The problem is that when you get older, you meet people who are actually smarter than you. Especially in the world of journalism, where there are a lot of really brilliant types. Not all of them, by any means, but lots who are significantly more intelligent than me. With advanced degrees to prove it.

You’d think at my incredible age – I automatically get the senior discount now – I would have gotten over this, but, no, there’s still a part of me that feels defensive about my relative lack of brains. This was only made worse by chemotherapy, where I lost the ability to count higher than nine.

Anyway, for reasons that continue to mystify me, these people are my friends. And I sit around and listen to them talk about Smart People Stuff, like an article they just read in The Economist or what the Federal Reserve is likely to do next week, and how artificial intelligence is going to take all our jobs.

I’m not too worried about this, because I figure I’ll be dead by then. But I always pretend like I understand what they’re talking about, with a knowing nod of my head. Then I ask if anyone’s seen any good movies lately.

See, in the olden days, back in 2023, I would have pretended that I’d actually liked the movie “Parasite,” which won Oscars and was a big hit among smart people but which I found gross and disturbing. Yes, I know that was the point, I’m not that dumb, but I don’t have to pay money to be grossed out or disturbed. All I have to do is drive down to Skid Row. Or turn on the network news.

When I go to the movies, I want to see something that’s funny and happy. Like the Jim Carrey movie, “Dumb and Dumber.” None of my smartypants friends would ever admit they liked “Dumb and Dumber.” But I’m saying right here in a column with my name on it, I like to watch “90 Day Fiancé” and “Survivor” and I like stupid movies, as long as they’re actually funny.

I would possibly even like “Keeping Up With the Kardashians” too, except the episodes are so stupid and I always just end up wanting to slap all of them. I like watching rich people act dopey. It makes me feel better about my life. What’s wrong with that?

And here’s the resolution part, the next time one of my friends talks about how stupid they think Kim Kardashian is, I’m going to argue back. She was recently named “Tycoon of the Year” by GQ magazine. And she’s spoken at Harvard Business School. No kidding. I’m not saying she’s Eleanor Roosevelt, nor do I plan to invite her to dinner, but she seems to me to be a pretty canny businesswoman. Especially when she’s naked. And that’s the truth.

Want to argue with me? Email me at mfisher@scng.com. And happy new year.