When I was growing up, especially as a teenager, people would often say, “It must be hard being a preacher’s kid.” It could be difficult because there were high expectations. Being a preacher’s child, though, was nothing difficult compared to being the wife of a television writer. My husband has almost ruined television for me. He walks into the room when I’m viewing a show – and by the way, I grew up loving television – and more often than not, he rolls his eyes and says, “You’re not watching that, are you?” Then, he begins a critique because he believes in the power of good television. This has gotten so troublesome that I am developing low self-esteem when it comes to television show selection. To avoid this, I usually put the TV on a high-brow selection like a PBS documentary then I switch the channel to the lower brow shows I adore. If I hear Tink’s footsteps, I quickly hit the previous button so that when he comes into the room, a pleasing show is on.