Some guy at Sir Monkeypants’ work (thanks, Ken) gave him a DVD full of episodes of some TV show called Top Gear.

It’s a British show where three middle-aged dudes take really fancy cars — BMWs, Astin Martins, Ferraris — and drive them at full speed on a closed course. Then they gush about how awesome it was to drive such a fine vehicle, all the while using cute British sayings and putting each other down like a pack of frat boys.

I seriously do not think I have ever found a TV show so incredibly boring.

I cannot fathom for the life of me why anyone would want to watch someone else drive around in a car, and then talk about it. A car that we are never, ever going to get to drive ourselves. Especially not on a closed course in top gear. I guess it’s kind of like car porn? Like, not at all like actually doing the deed, but titillating just to watch it? I guess? I don’t know, I still don’t get it. It’s not like I can watch Top Gear and get all wound up and then go out for a drive in my minivan just to get off.

Sir Monkeypants is totally over the moon for this show. The other night he stayed up after I did so he could finish the episode he was watching and then first thing in the morning, before I had even unstuck my second eyelid, he was right there giving me a scene-by-scene play-by-play. Over breakfast he started up the episode even though I told him I was too busy to watch it, then provided scene-by-scene commentary while I unloaded and loaded the dishwasher. With lots and lots of giddiness! and joy! in his voice.

And I saw his passion, and his love of this show that I am completely, totally indifferent to, and I had an epiphany.

“Oh! This must be what it is like for you when I watch So You Think You Can Dance! Got it.”