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by Leslie Bennetts
I was up half the night again, and it’s all my husband’s fault. His invitation sounded so innocent at first. “Will you watch Nip/Tuck with me?” he asked disingenuously.
Brandishing the remote control, he might as well have been the devil, beckoning me with a seductive flick of his pitchfork. This time, however, I knew enough to resist his blandishments.
Having caught a glimpse of the previous week’s coming attractions, in which a hack plastic surgeon and his evil assistant plan to kill off their handsome rival, Christian, I said firmly, “No way.”
Even without murder plots, I find Nip/Tuck—an excruciatingly graphic Fox cable TV series about plastic surgeons that features weekly scenes of people’s faces being sliced up—awfully hard to take.
When my husband persuades me to watch with him, I spend a significant portion of the hour with my hands clapped over my eyes, listening to the ominously percussive music that accompanies the revolting surgery scenes while waiting for him to tell me it’s safe to look at the screen again. Okay, so I’m a wuss; this much has never been in dispute.
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