twenty-something

Me? I kind of agree with Gabrielle up there. I was kind of embarrassed sitting there watching it, embarrassed by such a foolish spectacle and embarrassed to be a party to it, encouraging such behavior.

The over-the-top camp of these girls behaving badly was still fun, but many of last night's cringe-worthy moments weren't as painful-but-in-a-good-way to watch as they were in the first year -- last night, many just felt painful. The wrap-up from the finale felt rushed and the aftermath of all of it, after a year's worth of story, felt hollow. And the rest? Eh. The Mike and Susan drama... Photoshoped paternaty tests... Jesse Metcalfe's man-boobs and eyebrows... Zach's mistaken corpse, played by Clay Aiken... the funeral. It all felt... tired.

It was, of course, more of the same from season one, but this time around, after months away from Susan, Bree, Lynette, and Gabby, it was the first time that more of the same felt like a bad thing. It felt like somebody -- the creator, the writers, the stars, maybe everybody -- wasn't trying hard enough. After summer break, the spell has been broken. Win me back, girls!

Will I continue to watch the Wives? Please. Of course I will. But are my fears, which came up after last year's lackluster finale, that the show may fall victim to its own hype and quirkiness, a la Ally McBeal, slain by this episode? Nope. They were strengthened. In fact, were it not for the wonderful Alfre Woodard, the show probably already would've "jumped the shark" with last night's foolish final scene. I'm disinterested in this new mystery, but I'm hopeful it will give Alfre and her hot, baritone son lots more screen time.

Perhaps I expect too much from a show called Desperate Housewives...