It’s an addiction.

It gets in the way of my daily life. I have feelings of guilt and shame. But still, I can’t resist. I will freely admit it — I have a problem. I am addicted to stupid reality TV shows.

Is there a reality-show-addicts-anonymous out there? I’m sure I’m not the only one who bounces from one can’t-miss-it program to the next. In fact, I have friends that come over so that we can share our shame together. It’s a constant flow of Top Models, Bachelorettes, Apprentices, American Idols and the like. And now, my latest guilt-inducing fascination: Dancing with the Stars, the ballroom dancing competition that just kicked off on ABC last night.

But there’s a difference this time. Whereas neither American Idol or The Apprentice inspire me to go out and make a fool of myself on karaoke stages or job interviews (okay, maybe karaoke every now and then), Dancing with the Stars has given me a serious itch to take dance classes. I know that Thursday nights are swing dance night over at the Mercury Cafe, and I’m sitting here plotting how I can corral my husband into heading down for the “Dips and Tricks” class at 7 p.m tonight. (I’m just certain that he’ll be “working late” tonight. Almost positive.) On Wednesdays, they do salsa lessons at 6 and 7 p.m., and then the crowd is turned loose to dance the night away. Fridays are Tango night, with other classes offering cha cha cha, belly dance, flamenco, and other styles throughout the month.

I’m sure that I can manage to drag hubby off to one of these many tantalizing classes. And if not, most of the classes don’t even require a partner. I can go solo if it comes to that.

Just wait. I’ll be channeling Ginger in no time at all.

Or at the very least, I’ll feel better about those nights I skip the gym to stay home and savor my guilty pleasures on the boob tube.