How can it be that I am a regular reader of this blog? I mean, you could hardly call it a blog -- she posts only once or twice a month, it's not terribly interesting, it's surrounded by ads for gentle yet overpriced baby laundry detergent that you don't even need.

And it's her! Her! I don't even like her! I am not interested in her! I do nothing but criticize and disagree with her. I didn't watch her on TV before and, now that she's back, I still don't. I won't! Yet, I read her blog. I check it for updates, feel let down when there are none. I find myself identifying with her truly mundane stories and smiling at -- and I mean this in the rudest ways -- the very unfunny funny things she strains to write. Please, what is wrong with me?

Somehow, I have let Elisabeth Hasselbeck get under my skin and into the heart of my web browser. Bafflingly, I don't consider the three minutes I put in each month checking out her posts -- she doesn't even have links or games or a photo album to look through! -- wasted time. How could I? I love reading it! But shouldn't I hate myself a little more for loving it? Shouldn't I want to soak in a tub of scalding hot water and gentle Dreft soap bubbles? 

It's like the playgroup I go to again and again. The membership is dwindling, the only mom who shows up is the one you have nothing in common with. Nothing! But I keep going -- once or twice a month -- to not connect, to not agree, to not enjoy. Why go? Why not.