The Suspense Is Killing Me

Suspense. I don't like it much. I'm going to put it right out there. Not a big fan. Unless, of course, I'm watching something fabulous. Give me a good cliffhanger and I'm a happy SJG. Give me a crappy cliffhanger and I'm ready to throw a tomato at the screen, an act that hubby discourages. He's still trying to get the seeds off the flatscreen after last week's "Under the Dome" finale. It was so dumb, I just had to hurl something. It was almost as dumb as "Extant's" season finale. Why do I keep watching dumb shows with dumb cliffhangers? Perhaps this is a question for my rabbi. Perhaps I'll pose it on Friday night. "Excuse me, Rabbi, sorry to interrupt on Kol Nidre, but --" This is when the ushers will usher me out the door. So better I should wait. With my luck, I'll be running late on Friday, anyway, thanks to... oh God, it pains me to even say it... Jury Duty. A brief summary of my pre-JD week. Every day, a few minutes after 5, I get a knot in my tummy the size of...

... a hot pretzel. I turn to a higher power to see me through. "Papa, can you hear me? A little divine intervention, please. Remember the scary three-week gang trial, Papa? The police escort to the car? We don't want me to have to go through that again, do we?" I sit at my computer, I type in the info on my juror badge -- this badge matches nothing in my closet, by the way -- and the suspense mounts. Monday and Tuesday, my plea works, nicely.

Papa, can you hear me?

Wednesday, not so much. Here's the personalized message I receive on my JD portal: "Oh, come on. You didn't think we'd let you off the hook all week, did you? Show up on Thursday at 9:30 and try to behave yourself. And don't wear the T-shirt that says, 'We shouldn't mix in!' like the last time you were picked for jury duty. We let you off with a warning, but this time, SJG, we mean business."

So today, in I go. I know, I know, it could be worse. Much, much worse. I could be the one on trial for my crap attitude and overall lack of civic enthusiasm.