Things ‘The Good Wife’ won’t have to worry about during her divorce case

The best part of Netflix and Amazon Prime and Hulu (and an HBO Go password, please never cancel this, Mom and Dad) is, of course, having access to so many entertaining and important shows, movies and documentaries.

The worst part is there’s never anything to watch.

Let me rephrase that. It’s not that there’s actually “never anything to watch” because obviously there are millions of things to watch. But sometimes I find myself scanning the options and testing each one in my mind as if it were a dinner choice.

“Do I feel like Mexican tonight? Nah. Italian? Nooooo.”

“Can I handle this documentary right now on how people died because society ignored them? Meh. Am I in the mood for Scottish accents and anachronism? Nope.”

I can do this for 30 minutes sometimes.

When it comes to streaming networks, I am in a constant state of either binging or starving. I’ll watch an entire series in a week and then emerge from my darkened cave so weakened from the drama of it all and in mourning over the lack of future episodes that I will have to wait awhile before taking on the next one.

The problem is I get way too involved in the narrative.

Real life and TV life start to intertwine and affect me in very real ways.

While watching “The Bletchley Circle” I had to pause the TV to ask my dog to stop pawing at me so I could keep calm and carry on.

“Look, I think this guy is the killer, OK? I’m really stressed out right now. You have no idea how terrifying this is. It’s dark in that house because of the war, and Susan has no one with her to save her from this psycho. And her husband thinks she’s just a stay-at-home mom who likes puzzles and not a brilliant code-cracker who basically saved England — well, I mean, ‘saved’ England as in for the moment. Big picture, the Americans really saved them. Anyway, I promise. I will take you out to pee-pee as soon as I know she’s alive, OK?”

Most recently, I (finally) finished “The Good Wife,” which is a great show but maybe not the one to watch when you’re about to get divorced, and your court date is right around the corner, and you’re really anxious about it, and you’re the type of person who still can’t stop saying, “Objection! Yourrrr honnnor!” in your head, because on some level you have become Alicia Florrick as a result of this binge.

Trust me. This was a real area of concern for me.

Years ago, I met Sen. Bob Dole at an alumni event.

I knew I was going to meet him, and I was nervous about it. He shakes with his left hand, we were told. So I practiced. And practiced and practiced, on my roommate, on my boyfriend, on her boyfriend, on the guy who worked at Kinkos.

“Hi Sen. Dole, it’s so nice to (reach with the left hand) meet you. Hi Sen. Dole, it’s so nice to (reach with the left hand) meet you.”

Got it.

Then I met Sen. Dole.

I grabbed his bad hand.

Then shook the bad hand a little.

Then said “Oh no! I’m so so sorry! ... I practiced.”

Why I did this can only be explained by whatever this phenomenon is: Whenever I’m out walking in my neighborhood, I often don’t take my keys with me.

I don’t take them because I’m afraid I’ll throw them down a sewer grate.

Not that they’ll fall down a sewer grate, that I’ll throw them down one. Or rather, I am so worried about them falling down a grate that I’m convinced my subconscious will take over my body and unilaterally decide to solve the problem of my anxiety by just getting the worst over with.

And, thusly, I sat outside the Beaufort County Family Court room Thursday.

I had been prepped by my lawyer. I brought along one of my best friends as the state-required witness, and she was prepped.

And then I prepped myself once more.

Can the state of South Carolina do anything to reconcile this marriage? No. Just say “no.” Not “no they cannot.” Definitely don’t say “yes.” Just say “no.” Calmly. Everything else you say “yes” to. “No” to that one. And “your honor,” say “your honor” a lot. But do not under any circumstances say “Objection! Yourrrr honnnor!”

My friend knew I was nervous and kept telling me it was going to be OK.

She did not know about “The Good Wife.”

Each question the judge asked me required a pause (don’t you say “Objection! Yourrrr honnnor!”) before I could answer.

Each time I said “yes” or “no” I checked a box in my head.

“Objection! Yourrrr honnnor!”

You’re almost done. You’re almost there. Do not upset this judge with your inability to be normal.

“Objection! Yourrrr honnnor!”

And ... I got through it.

My inner Alicia Florrick did not come out. I was not “The Good Wife.” I did not act like I was on a TV show. I did not object inappropriately.

The only thing left was the witness’ testimony.

No sweat.

My friend got called up.

She grinned from the front of the courtroom.

And then answered every question as if she were a character actress on “Law and Order.”

She was the most enthusiastic and detailed divorce-court witness in the history of divorce-court witnesses.

I heard “book club” and “texting” and “really good friends” and “work” and laughter.

She was emphatic in places and earnest in others.

She wanted this judge to know that I definitely — definitely — was not the murderer.

Wait, this wasn’t a murder trial, though.

On our way out of the courtroom — after my divorce was granted — my hilarious, wonderful friend took me by the arm, and she said, “Liz! That was AWESOME. It was just like TV!”

This story was originally published January 27, 2017 at 7:10 PM with the headline "Things ‘The Good Wife’ won’t have to worry about during her divorce case."