There is a pet peeve of mine which is pretty consistent and prevalent in my regular life. However, I have a deep rooted hatred for it, and I wish it would go away.
The pet peeve emerges as such:
I am sitting watching something online/on TV/in a movie theatre/in some other fashion hereto unlisted. There is a character who is pregnant and has gone into labour. This actually happens very frequently online/on TV/in a movie theatre/in some other fashion hereto unlisted; in the past two weeks of our Netflix watching, Peter and I have witnessed THREE babies being birthed. The baby is shown (having, only moments previously, imaginarily been pushed out of and delivered from this woman's baby-hole) as a sparkly clean, sleeping 6 month old baby, who usually is not crying in any fashion, and is neatly wrapped in a soft blanket, which is also free from any baby-hole goop.
"THAT BABY DIDN'T JUST COME OUT OF YOU" I scream at the screen, a wad of some snack food wedged between my cheek and tongue, "THAT'S A GROWN-BUTT BABY."
The fact that this is so important to me, is something I just can't understand about myself. Here am I, completely and wilfully suspending my disbelief in all other aspects of the show, but curse you to purgatory if you don't fetch a newly concocted child from some hospital ward, dip it in goo and show me a truthful and accurate birth.
The first show in which a baby was popped-out in this past fortnight was Lost. Funnily enough, I did not spend the first fifteen episodes of the show prior to this baby catastrophe yelling at my screen,
"YEAH, OKAY, SURE. I'M 80% CERTAIN THAT NONE OF YOU ACTUALLY SURVIVED THAT PLANE CRASH. YOU KNOW WHAT, I'M IN FACT 70% SURE THAT PLANE CRASH DIDN'T EVEN HAPPEN!
"OH, YOU'VE BEEN ON THE ISLAND FOR A MONTH? YOU HAVE?! I BET YOU JUST SPENT LAST NIGHT SLEEPING IN A COMFORTABLE BED. YOU'RE NOT EVEN LIVING ON THE BEACH AT ALL ARE YOU?! ARE YOU?!?!
"YOU'RE NOT MARRIED TO HER. I BET YOU'RE JUST PRETENDING. YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THIS WOMAN UNTIL, LIKE, THREE MONTHS BEFORE YOU STARTED FILMING. STOP TRYING TO LIE TO ME."
Therefore, a new goal of my life is to stop yelling at my computer when it shows me someone giving birth to a baby that doesn't emerge like a flailing and goopy alien, but in fact one that looks like it could possibly be digesting solid foods already. Or maybe, perhaps, I should just steer away from all on-screen births, knowing as I do that they are a trigger warning for sudden and angry tirades. Really, either option is one best suited for everyone's sanity.
The pet peeve emerges as such:
I am sitting watching something online/on TV/in a movie theatre/in some other fashion hereto unlisted. There is a character who is pregnant and has gone into labour. This actually happens very frequently online/on TV/in a movie theatre/in some other fashion hereto unlisted; in the past two weeks of our Netflix watching, Peter and I have witnessed THREE babies being birthed. The baby is shown (having, only moments previously, imaginarily been pushed out of and delivered from this woman's baby-hole) as a sparkly clean, sleeping 6 month old baby, who usually is not crying in any fashion, and is neatly wrapped in a soft blanket, which is also free from any baby-hole goop.
"THAT BABY DIDN'T JUST COME OUT OF YOU" I scream at the screen, a wad of some snack food wedged between my cheek and tongue, "THAT'S A GROWN-BUTT BABY."
The fact that this is so important to me, is something I just can't understand about myself. Here am I, completely and wilfully suspending my disbelief in all other aspects of the show, but curse you to purgatory if you don't fetch a newly concocted child from some hospital ward, dip it in goo and show me a truthful and accurate birth.
The first show in which a baby was popped-out in this past fortnight was Lost. Funnily enough, I did not spend the first fifteen episodes of the show prior to this baby catastrophe yelling at my screen,
"YEAH, OKAY, SURE. I'M 80% CERTAIN THAT NONE OF YOU ACTUALLY SURVIVED THAT PLANE CRASH. YOU KNOW WHAT, I'M IN FACT 70% SURE THAT PLANE CRASH DIDN'T EVEN HAPPEN!
"OH, YOU'VE BEEN ON THE ISLAND FOR A MONTH? YOU HAVE?! I BET YOU JUST SPENT LAST NIGHT SLEEPING IN A COMFORTABLE BED. YOU'RE NOT EVEN LIVING ON THE BEACH AT ALL ARE YOU?! ARE YOU?!?!
"YOU'RE NOT MARRIED TO HER. I BET YOU'RE JUST PRETENDING. YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THIS WOMAN UNTIL, LIKE, THREE MONTHS BEFORE YOU STARTED FILMING. STOP TRYING TO LIE TO ME."
Therefore, a new goal of my life is to stop yelling at my computer when it shows me someone giving birth to a baby that doesn't emerge like a flailing and goopy alien, but in fact one that looks like it could possibly be digesting solid foods already. Or maybe, perhaps, I should just steer away from all on-screen births, knowing as I do that they are a trigger warning for sudden and angry tirades. Really, either option is one best suited for everyone's sanity.
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