I just can’t quit you, American Idol!

I announced loudly at the start of the season back in January, “I’m DONE with this. Me and American Idol… we’re THROUGH.” I gave this whole impassioned speech about last year’s general lack of talent and Simon Cowell, and my parents kind of yawned and said, “That’s nice, dear.”

Then my mom started watching it, and every time I went into the kitchen to grab a snack I’d pass through the living room and say, “I’m boycotting it this year. Mom? Are you listening? I said I’m boycotting.” And eventually I wound up hovering near the couch, watching intently, and my mom would say, “Do you want to sit down?” and I’d answer quickly, “Oh, no, I’m just watching to see what kind of weird stuff Steven Tyler comes up with.” Then I’d start making excuses to go into the living room. “Mom? Is this my sock? And is that Adam Lambert I see onstage?” Eventually I wound up sitting on the couch, muttering about how “they can replace Paula but they’ll NEVER replace Simon.” And now… and now? Now I can name every finalist and I’m currently hopping on the Scotty McCreery bandwagon. (I’m sure Motown was rolling in their graves, but come on. The kid’s got balls.)

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