Scene: A Sunday evening at home.
Lady Susan comes down stairs to the kitchen after putting Finn to bed. She glances at the clock.
Lady Susan: Sweet. Finn went down pretty quickly. We can watch something before I go to bed in an hour or so.
Mr. F.: What do you want to watch?
Lady Susan: How 'bout another episode of Inspector Lewis. You know I have a thing for Detective Sergent Hathaway.
Mr. F.: Sure.
Lady Susan and Mr. F. ready themselves for mystery watching enjoyment: tea is brewed, cookies gathered, and ice cream scooped. (Mystery watching is intense). They queue up Netflix and settle in.
5 minutes pass. Lady Susan and Mr. F. have been introduced to the main characters and the scene for the mystery is set. However, a pitiful wail is heard from the direction of the baby monitor.
Lady Susan: exasperatedly Baby!
Lady Susan starts shoveling what remains of her ice cream into her mouth in preparation to head back upstairs to comfort Finn, who is obviously, having a hard time settling down for the night. Mr. F. pauses the show.
Mr. F.: with a sympathetic sigh See you in a bit.
Lady Susan spends ten minutes comforting Finn back to sleep. She hurries back downstairs. Time is ticking. She needs to go to bed soon but she really wants to finish watching the episode.
Lady Susan: O.k. ready? Let's start this again.
The show is again turned on. Lady Susan banter back and forth about who the possible suspects are.
Lady Susan: The trophy wife is definitely rotten, and I don't like the look of the vicar.
Mr. F.: There is something odd about the butler.
Lady Susan: True, there is something rather insidious about those gloves he is wearing to dust.
The movie reaches a climax. Both Inspector Lewis and Detective Sergent Hathaway have simultaneously, but independently, come to the conclusion of who the murderer is. Lady Susan and Mr. F. lean forward in anticipation......
A sad, sad cry is heard coming from the baby monitor.
Lady Susan and Mr. F.: Seriously baby!? Could you have better timing?
Lady Susan troops upstairs to take care of this exasperating child of hers. Ten minutes later, she returns.
Mr. F.: Should we attempt to watch the last 5 minutes?
Lady Susan: Yes.
They watch the final moments. It is just a matter of form now; their enjoyment at the suspense and its conclusion long since shot to pieces.
And that dear readers, is what a Sunday evening looks like at our house.