“No Gregg! Don’t give Chris the magazines! You want to give them to Arelliat!”

Ted had a new addiction. Soaps. He couldn’t stop watching them. He had followed this particular one for a good few weeks and had laughed with it and cried with it. He didn’t care if people thought he was a big girls blouse, for he enjoyed watching it and he’d be darned if anyone wanted to ruin his fun.

So there he would be, every friday night. All snug in his yellow pajamas with a bucket of banana ice cream in one hand and a tissue in the other.

His neighbors often wondered what was going on the first couple of weeks when they heard cursing and ranting, but had gotten used to how he shouted things at the TV screen.

Some of the classics were: “Yes, of course Chris has a secret, Frank! He keeps his dirty underwear in his briefcase!”, “On no. He’s going to shoot you Glenda!” and “You love Arelliat! Oh come on. Even I can see that. Stop being a moron Melvin and tell her! Please! Before we get old. I beg you.”

Soaps + Ted = fun…