I am about to make a confession that will make almost everyone who knows me shake their heads in sad bewilderment.

I watch pro wrestling. And I like it.

Why? It’s fun. It’s an interestingly written soap opera that my boyfriend and I can both watch and neither of us feels like a pouf. It’s got bad buys and good guys. Heros to cheer, villans to boo, and underdogs to root for. The good guys don’t always win, and sometimes the bad guys look a lot like the good guys. (Kinda like real life.)

They are honest about the dangers inherent in the sport, and continually plead with their fans and the general viewing populace not to attempt their stunts. They even write books about this. They are misunderstood a lot, the looked down upon underdogs of the professional sports world; and I’ve always had a thing for underdogs. They work damn hard to do things that most actors and stuntmen can only attempt with complicated wire rigs.

They have some beautiful, strong amazonian women who can kick butt with the best of the men. (Of corse, they have even more female puff pieces who exist just to decorate the guys elbows, but I can ignore them.)

They have beautiful people, average looking people, and ugly people. Just like in real life. Some of them are thin. Some aren’t. Just like the rest of the world.

They have guys who make my 6′4″ viking of a boyfriend look small - and for some reason, I find that cool as hell. And a little funny.

And finally, it’s the last thing some folks would expect me to watch.