Downton Abbey

050I’m tired and bleary eyed. When the alarm clock goes off in the morning I’d sell my Chihuahua for an extra half of hour of sleep.

Well, not really. It hasn’t come to trading in beloved dogs for more sack time…yet.

The reason I’m exhausted?–season four of Downton Abbey.

D gave it to me for my birthday and I’m addicted. I tuck myself into bed, hunched over the DVD player’s tiny screen. I don’t turn it off until it becomes painful to force my tired eyes open another minute.

It’s not just when I’m supposed to be sleeping.

Yesterday I took my boy to Tae Kwon Do. Instead of racing off to Walmart to pick up a few groceries while he was martial-arting, I sat in the car watching Downton. It’s no big deal. I can get milk, eggs and apples any time, but I HAD to find out the results of Lady Edith’s recent visit to a London doctor.

Part of the attraction is Downton’s gripping story lines and engaging characters. Another is the stunning setting and costumes. But I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t admit I like to project myself into the action. I’m Lady N, a charming cousin from the colonies who dazzles with her witty conversation. (Of course, I get to have a title. It’s my fantasy so I can leap tall buildings or discover a cure for cancer if I want. A measly ladyship doesn’t seem like to much to imagine.)

So when the alarm screams at me every morning and I drag myself out of bed to get ready for my job, I REALLY wish I was Lady N with a diligent maid delivering breakfast in bed and running my bath.

By the time I’ve had my second cup of coffee I realize that given my family’s social position (or lack of it) I’d be the maid, not the lady and I’m lucky because unlike my 1920’s self I get weekends off.

If only I could get that extra thirty minutes of zzz’s every morning, 21st century life wouldn’t be so bad.

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