Tag Archives: the empath

A Wife Discovers Star Trek: Live Long and Silent?

It was Friday afternoon and I had just returned home from work to find my husband settled in the arm chair watching reruns of Star Trek on TV. I’ve seen a few of the movies, but had never watched the television series before.

“Scoot over,” I said, and snuggled in, ready to start my weekend and find out what all of the fuss was about.

I think maybe I watched the wrong first episode?

The title of the show was ‘The Empath’. Our trio of explorers, Captain Kirk, Spock, and McCoy are zapped onto an unknown planet with alien men whose heads, to me, looked like giant ears.

Along for the ride, was a humanoid empath, who cannot speak but can heal the injuries of others. She can also rock a neon blue leotard covered in cloth made of butterfly tears.

Throughout the episode, Kirk and McCoy are tortured by the f(ear)less aliens using rainbow beams that shoot from gadgets similar to the good ol’ Viewmaster.

They are always returned to the holding cell on the brink of death, forcing the empath to heal them.

And this is where I got a little irritated.

Running her acrylic nailed hands over their faces, soothing their furrowed brows, and rubbing their shoulders and chests, the empath healed our heroes. And she did all of it with this look on her face. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me these guys are teamed up with a woman who CAN’T TALK and MASSAGES them all day?!! Well you can tell a man wrote this episode.”

My husband looked at me, annoyed. Probably wishing he’d married one of those humanoid empath wives. You know, the ones who can’t talk and massage their men with manicured hands.

“When you’re ready to get off your high horse,” he said, “I’ll be down here drinking my coffee.”

“Look at her face. How does one even make that face?” I asked.

I tilted my head and tried looking wounded, sexy, and cosmic all at the same time.

“That’s creepy,” he replied.

“Well, I don’t see what the fuss is about this show. There’s certainly nothing of interest for the women watching it. And I mean really, that last action scene? Was he creating his own slow motion? Who runs like that?”

My husband set his coffee mug down and turned toward me again. “Is this what it’s like?” he asked.

“What what’s like?”

“When I make fun of your shows?”

I cocked my head again.

“Thank you, honey, for showing me what that feels like. Now can you please not talk anymore?”

That was the start of my weekend! How was yours?
Massage any men lately or take a vow of silence? 

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