Hump, Marry, Kill: Bye, Bye Game Of Thrones...See You In 2014!

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Hump: I’m very concerned about the fact that although she is a fictional character, even years of therapy (or analysis, as she’d call it) might not undo the psychological damage of Sally Draper seeing her dad having an afternoon quickie with the neighbor whose son she has a crush on. But she handled it surprisingly well for a teenager whose past behavior can best be qualified as erratic — although with Betty Draper as a mother and Don as an absentee father, what did we expect?

I was pretty proud of ol’ Sal when she told her father how disgusted his actions made her, although the running to her room and slamming the door part could have gone a little better. Now if only we could see how she’d react to the news about her mom and dad’s night of passion during visiting weekend at Bobby’s summer camp.

Marry: Even though he met his untimely demise in last week’s episode, I’m still pledging my eternal love to the King of the North, Robb Stark. When Game of Thrones returns for season four (in 2014...which is so damn far away), I think we’ll all feel the show is lacking in wavy auburn locks, dreamy chiseled jawline, and a hint of a Scottish accent creeping through his northern Winterfell one when he says words with Rs and certain vowels.

I know we’ll still have Jon Snow fulfilling the stud quota, but he freaking abandoned Ygritte when she needed him most — and to return to his celibate bros, no less. I get that he wants to protect the kingdom from white walkers, wildings, and the other dangers beyond the wall, but c’mon, Jon, you can do all that and have a hot wife. Just don’t accept any wedding invitations — they never seem to end well in Westeros.

Kill: Here’s the thing about television in the year 2013, networks: We understand antiheroes. While our relationship with them might be conflicted, we get that people are fallible. We’re a nation that willingly lets Don Draper, who looked ready to murder his own daughter when she caught him doing something amoral, into our hearts and homes week after week. So, really, we don’t expect our TV characters to be honorable, perfect, Mother Theresa-types.

I think that’s my biggest problem with Mistresses, ABC’s latest summer soap, which is adapted from a British show of the same name. Now I’ve never seen the British version (after all, I’m much too busy watching everything Joel Kinnaman has ever starred in), but I’m willing to venture that the characters who cheat on their husbands or prefer to be in relationships where they’re “the other woman” don’t immediately apologize for their illicit sexy times with tempting handsome men.

Alyssa Milano is the leading lady in fair Verona where we lay our scene (just kidding...I think they’re in California or something). She plays Savi, a lawyer who finds out in the pilot that the reason she and her husband haven’t been able to conceive is due to low sperm motility. Said husband, who is inexplicably Australian because female viewers between the age of 24-49 can’t resist an accent, naturally falls into a deep, stereotypical depression because of this (“Oh no! I’m so much less of a strapping, sexy Australian because my sperm isn’t the Michael Phelps of baby juice. Woe is me and my otherwise perfect life.”).

Now, I’m not knocking infertility problems here, because I know they’re incredibly trying and stressful on a marriage. What I am questioning is how this — a moment when her husband probably needs her the most — is what sends Savi into the arms of the strapping coworker she already has a borderline sexual harassment flirtation with. Clearly she’s been considering some late-night office desk nookie with cute coworker for a while; however, the writers didn’t think she’d remain likeable to us pure-as-snow viewers if she had an affair in the pilot unless she was going through such a difficult time in her marriage that she was practically thrown on top of another man.

So, make up your minds, Mistresses writers. If our heroine has an affair, she’s doing it on her own terms and volition. I’m not asking for a total Don Draper attitude here where she feels absolutely no remorse, but don’t make her such a damn girl about it. You slept with your coworker, Savi. Own up to it, and stop acting like someone forced you to do it. There’s no crying in baseball — or adultery.

Photo: Courtesy of Helen Sloan/HBO; Photo: Courtesy of Michael Yarish/AMC; Photo: Courtesy of Bob D'Amico/ABC