After 15 years on life support, it was time to pull the plug. We killed our TV nine months ago. We just couldn't justify paying for something we barely used.

It wasn't the first time I've quit TV. I swore it off during my junior year of high school after getting hit by a painful epiphany: I had squandered most of my life watching "Happy Days" and "Three's Company" reruns. As a young idealist, I was militant about my new rule, refusing to enter a room that contained a live TV. But one night at a party, revelers were watching "Saturday Night Live." Before I could turn away, I caught a glimpse of the Church Lady scolding Sean Penn and was unable to resist. Then Penn got fed up and punched her in the face, which was hysterical.

After that I made occasional allowances.

Which is what my wife, Worm, and I intended to do.

"Occasional" allowances. According to our plans, the doors of our entertainment center would swing open for a half-hour every evening, when our 18-month-old, Maz, watches his Baby Einstein. And we might rent a movie a week via Netflix, a delivery service. The rest of the time, the TV wouldn't even exist. But things haven't exactly worked out that way.

I blame it mostly on our house guests, many of them typical American four-hour-a-day watchers who have their TVs on for six hours and 47 minutes out of every 24 -- sometimes as background noise! My mom is concerned that each moment her grandson is not watching "Sesame Street," he is falling behind his toddler peers. So whenever she baby sits, she sneaks on the one episode left over from our lousy satellite service, which made it nearly impossible to cancel but then allowed us to keep the box full of recorded programs after we contacted the Better Business Bureau.

Our 12-year-old niece, who is perplexed by our TV-less household, usually brings over two six-episode DVDs of "Full House." How did I miss this gem the first time around? Yikes! At least we're not subjected to commercials; it's pure Bob Saget.

And my best pal, a hopeless addict who lives without TV in the remote center of Catalina Island, rewatches satellite-leftover episodes of "The Daily Show" every time he visits.

But Worm should also be faulted. After both of us quickly realized that movies are just too long and boring to watch more than maybe one a month, she started renting TV shows.

First she got "Curb Your Enthusiasm," which was the best show I'd ever seen; followed by "The Sopranos," which was also the best show I'd ever seen; then another inspired one called "Entourage," which somehow managed to make a Bob Saget cameo funny.

"When did TV get so good?" I asked her.

"When they started showing it on HBO," Worm informed me.

But recently she has moved away from HBO to network shows. Such as "The Office" -- hilarious -- and her most recent fetish, "Desperate Housewives," apparently an ABC program.

I tried to draw the line on this one, at first never viewing it without the accompaniment of a crossword puzzle or book. I even attempted to leave the room, but Worm caught me peeking around corners to find out what was happening. Before long, I was quizzing her for backstory on the many characters. Now I can't wait to find out whether Bree will kick her drinking habit, Carlos and Gabriella will buy a black-market baby, and Julie and Edie will be able to work out their numerous differences.

Sometimes we'll watch three or four episodes back to back, putting us, once a week, precariously close to the U.S. viewer average. And with a fresh new disc set to arrive in the mail any day, I'm eager, ashamed and unsure what to do. Perhaps somebody could loan me a first-edition hardback copy of "Desperate Housewives"?