I nearly contacted ‘Ripley’s Believe it or not!’ last week.

Let me begin by telling you that, generally, the television Paul and I enjoy watching as we sputter through our middle years is ‘Masterpiece Theatre,” “Travels With Rick Steves,” and nearly everything on BBC America.

Perhaps it comes from living in Los Angeles for 15 years and getting my fill of ‘The Night Stalker,’ riots, and robberies on the nightly news. And, frankly, even living here in the Upstate, there’s always one or two murders that lead the evening broadcast.

So, you see, when I am watching TV for leisure, the last thing I want to do is watch graphic violence. I don’t mind a murder too much as long as it was written by Agatha Christie and there’s lots of lovely, English villages to soak up as well as good manners and endless pots of tea.

However, there are times when it’s just good fun to take a look at popular culture and here is where Paul and I differ.

He thoroughly enjoys “Top Chef” but staunchly refuses the other reality fare preferring to read instead.

For my defense, it should be said that I have never seen “Jersey Shore” or “The Bachelor” ever. I once tried a few minutes of “Survivor” and had the same reaction as a toddler does when he grabs his dad’s beer glass by mistake and takes a glug.

But “American Idol” has always intrigued me because a couple of legitimate stars have been launched from this show and true talent is involved. I would flip to it while Paul had disappeared to check his email and, just as I began to get hooked, could feel his presence hovering disapprovingly in the doorway.

“Are you going to watch that?”

“Well, just for a few minutes,” I said, not turning my eyes from Kelly Pickler’s heartbreaking childhood.

The next sound I would hear would be his sigh and heavy tread upon the stairs, carrying Benjamin Franklin’s biography.

“It’s really pretty good!” I called after him.

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m sure it is. Mesmerizing.”

Flash-forward to this season’s “ Idol” and just imagine my utter disbelief to see it listed among recorded events on our DVR. Shaken, I turned to Paul and said, “Idol? Are you aware of this? Were you meaning, instead, to record ‘I Claudius?”

“No,” he mumbled, flipping through a LL Bean catalog. “I hear it’s very good this year.”

It’s a heckuva shock to learn some new aspect of your better half’s behavior after 20 years.

Suddenly I felt a kinship to women who suddenly learn their husband has a secret other life…a second wife or a gambling addiction.

Somewhat numbly, I sat while he cued up the program and we watched the first episode. Then the second and third. We compared singers. We disagreed on who should be sent home. We reveled in the final 24. And then it happened.

Peering over from the loveseat, I caught Paul in profile, slumped comfortably against the back of the sofa, reading glasses sliding down his nose, the light from the television filigreeing the top of his graying head as he focused intently on something in his hands.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Texting.” he chirped. “Who do you want to vote for?”

“You’re voting?” I spluttered. “Are you kidding me? YOU are texting a vote?” and burst into gales of laughter that only began to annoyed him. “YOU who would never watch this show and only made condescending remarks about it?”

“It’s different this season. It’s not like before.”

“You’ve never watched it before!”

“Well, I’m watching it now.” he said abruptly, then added. “So do you want to vote for the skinny red-haired guy or Jakob?”

“Hello, Ripley’s? You ain’t gonna believe this!

Comedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office at her home in Gowensville.

Want a chance to respond to this column? Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.