I have a shameful secret to confess.
It’s almost 9:00 p.m. on Sunday and I’m getting ready to watch “Desperate Housewives.”
I gotta admit, I’m hooked on this chick show, this nighttime soap opera. But I have the manliest of reasons for loving the show.
1) Teri Hatcher. She’s one of the best comic actresses around, both in timing and physicality. Put her on the screen and you’re guaranteed laughs.
Further, she’s a screaming hottie about whom I’ve harbored impure thoughts about since I first saw her in “Lois And Clark.” She is, quite simply, one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
But Teri, please, take it from someone who’s loved you for years. Keep the clothes on. I saw you in “Heaven’s Prisoners,” and — how can I say this kindly? — gravity has not been kind to you. Keep wearing the hot clothes.
2) Felicity Huffman. I loved her on “Sports Night,” and always thought she was fantastic. Plus, she’s married to The Shoveler.
3) Marcia Cross. I wasn’t familiar with her before this show, but she’s a gorgeous redhead who, last week, stripped down to racy red lingerie. That, my friends, is quality entertainment.
4) The show is narrated by a character who died in the pilot. I’ve always enjoyed shows that had a strong element of the surreal (Scrubs, Ally McBeal, the occasional Drew Carey), and ya don’t get much more surreal than a ghost narrator.
I’d write more, but the show’s starting. Nobody bother calling me for the next hour — you’ll get the machine.