I’m don’t know when my love for Desperate Housewives became such a cross to bear. Few instances come to mind where a TV backlash was so immediate, lingering and fairly unwarranted. It would make sense if the first season had set a precedent of something other than soapy antics and an almost pandering multi-demographic appeal. All the smart writing in the world couldn’t disguise what the show was – a safe bet for advertisers. Even now, with the dips in quality and the pop culture scarlet letter viewers have had to wear, DH still does remarkably well in ratings and consistently wins its timeslot. I’ll admit to feeling more guilt than pleasure at points over the last four years, but this season’s return to form is enough to make me wave my fan flag high. And, for the first time since the beginning of the strike, truly bemoan the premature death of the 07/08 season.

When Pushing Daisies ends next Wednesday, my lips well settle into a frown for at least a day or two. When Friday Night Lights goes dark early next year, I may even shed a few tears. But neither of those shows will dump me with a cliffhanger the size of last Sunday’s Desperate Housewives. The highly advertised tornado finally rolled into Fairview, and with it, an undisclosed number of deaths, two unlikely unions and the complete destruction of Wisteria Lane. Hyped as “the - best – episode – of – the – SEASON!”, it fell short of last year’s supermarket hostage triumph, Bang, but it was probably the best episode they’ve put out since.

It began with Mary Alice’s oft cliché narration, but they were rolling out the big guns, so she’s eerie with the foreboding: the tornado will take the lives of one husband and at least one Wisteria Lane fixture. The imminent spousal death she speaks of ends up being Victor Lang – Gabby’s creepy husband who garnered an absurd excess of influence and media attention for a suburban mayor. I’m pretty sure the mayor of my hometown works at a hardware store during the day.

On the non-tornado front, we probably said goodbye to new neighbor Adam (Nathan Fillion, tear…) when Bree accidentally exposed his philandering. Her immediate show of support and affection for his stoic wife (her bitchy arch-nemesis, Katherine) causes them to smile at each other and hold hands for the duration of the storm. They’re totally besties now! Trauma may also have inspired Gabby and Edie to become girlfriends, but those hints were far less heavy-handed.

The cliffhanger, if you don’t already know, is the source of Felicity Huffman’s scream that ran over and over in the torrent of commercials. It should have reached a Nancy Kerrigan level of hilarity by the time the show finally aired, but its hard to laugh at a woman whose five children and charming husband are laying under a burning pile of rubble that used to be her neighbor’s house. It’s not the kind of scene you like to be left with on the eve of an indefinite hiatus, even though the outcome won’t likely be as devastating as it looks. A show that submits Emmy entries to the comedy categories is not going to kill babies.

So there you have it: I love Desperate Housewives. You can slap a trucker hat on my head, hand me a copy of Vice and mock me for how culturally out of touch I am. If you were watching, you’d know better.