It started as a genuine research project, and has ended as an obsession.

Sunday nights are for staying at home. Mondays and Tuesdays too. And any night that MAFS, or Married at First Sight, delivers its bizarre plot into our lounge room.

My husband is appalled. The children too. My friends don’t know about it. And many of you are shaking your heads, with more than a patronising nod.

But here’s the thing. Perhaps it’s like a wine to an exhausted parent at 6pm. Or like our need to travel after years of Covid lockdowns.

Its pull is real, despite it throwing up the worst of humankind.

Gaslighting underscores relationship after relationship. A toxic masculinity that would have any parent seeking expert advice.

It’s demeaning, a showcase in coercive control, and a sad reflection on the lure of reality television.

And still, with the washing up done, I sneak into the lounge room, shut the door, and pretend I’m doing something else.

So are a million or more others – going on its ratings – despite the widespread condemnation of the characters, the plot, the language and the time slot.

But those factors are the exact reason I started watching MAFS, on........

© The New Daily