OK, so it may not be an obsession but since I’m considered a journalist, I thought I’d go the route of sensationalism and try to get ratings for this column.  

You know what I mean.  

Even the weatherman forecasts doomsday every time a storm is forecast so that all the people tune in, or watch The Weather Channel all day and read everything that scrolls across the bottom.

So I am appalled at what is on television these days, or more specifically what is popular and what gets big ratings. Now there are some good things, but a lot of what people watch is mindless and shallow and stupid.  

But yes, there is a strange show on TLC that is called “My Weird Obsession” and it’s like watching a train wreck. I’ve only tuned in twice and I sit there with a puzzled and disgusted look on my face. But I keep watching.

So naturally, one self-analyzes and wonders after watching such a show if he or she has a “weird obsession.” Michelle and I were traveling west the other day and we passed the hospital where all the kids were born, and a giant wave of comfort washed over me as we sped past.

“You know what I’d like to do some day? I’d like to go and eat in the hospital cafeteria again,” I said to her. “I actually think about it every time I drive past.”

“Are you nuts?”  

This is her usual reply to many things I say, so I was nonplussed.

“No, seriously. I have such fond memories of the place and how good the food is, and I just think it would be neat to go and have lunch or dinner there some time soon.”

Knowing I am not always good at planning date night or dinners out, I heard her give me an exasperated grunt – also something she does often.

So, I began to plead my case. You see, once I got my pregnant wife to the hospital, all four times that is, a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. Suddenly a team of doctors and nurses were at our disposal, and I knew we were in good hands. I didn’t have to worry anymore and I myself even felt administered to. It was a great feeling.

Once Michelle was relatively comfortable and even after the kids were born and everyone was able to rest and sleep, I would slip down to the hospital cafeteria for nachos or soft pretzels or pizza. Sometimes, I’d even have more grown-up food. But eating such things in such an atmosphere where stress has been erased; well, I now know where the term “comfort food” comes from.

So, I forged on with my explanation of visiting one of my “happy places” from the past and I feel like I almost convinced her how great the place could be.  

And then it dawned on me:  Michelle had not accompanied me to the cafeteria any of those times.  She’d been upstairs getting ready for labor or recuperating from labor and delivery, or at one time, a C-section. The place did not hold special memories for her at all.

I’d been all alone, enjoying my nachos or pizza or pretzels. She was not part of that part of the memory.

“You’re one of the only people I know who would like to return to a hospital cafeteria without actually needing to,” she finally said.

After a while, I started thinking about the weight I’d gained since our kids started coming along. How I’d finished my meal and theirs, and how the hospital cafeteria wasn’t the only time I’d eaten nachos and pretzels and pizza.

But heck, even with lovely memories tarnished somewhat, I’d still go back there in a minute.