The final season of Six Feet Under…
…is officially the best way to release all your ‘damn I’m missing my family back in Oz’ tension.
Seriously. I’ve spent the best part of the last three days crying my eyes out, much to the bemusement of my hubby, who’s all “Uh…Jen? You don’t even know these people. Why? Because they’re not REAL!!!!!!!!!!!!”
And I’m all “THEY ARE REAL!!!! And don’t you DARE go interrupting my last precious moments with these people I’ve come to know, love and over-empathise with over the past few years. Don’t you understand that everybody I know in real life has already found out what happens to these people! Don’t you know that I’m behind? Don’t you know that I need to find out for myself, say goodbye and grieve my heart out for them?!?!?!?!?!! Now get out of the way of the television and let me make my peace, monkey boy!”
And he’s all: “Monkey boy?”
And I’m all: “WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
See what it’s done to me? Best. Series. Ever.