My Internet research obsession is real

My penchant for research has taken a turn towards the obsessive. 

I just watched a YouTube video of a rather large man eating a pumpkin pie blizzard to see if I, too, would enjoy one.  

Who was this man? And why was he eating a blizzard in his car? I have no idea, but I watched for almost five minutes as he described in full detail what he was tasting at the moment. Judging by his size, I immediately presumed him to be an expert in evaluating frozen desserts. 

Yes, this is what it's come to. I've become so reliant on the Internet for information that I can't resist checking reviews before buying ice-cream.  

I always want a full picture of what I'm getting into. I'll check reviews before watching a new television show. I wouldn't want to waste time on a series that goes nowhere. 

I'll read the reviews on kitchen faucets and breadmakers. Whatever I buy has to be at least in the top five. 

I'll do price-checks on everything before I buy it. Do you know most businesses will match the lowest price? 

It pays to be diligent. It's about quality after all. And you can save... Tens, if not hundreds of dollars. 

But it takes a toll.  

Not only is there the time commitment, there are also the obsessive tendencies your friends and family may not fully appreciate. 
Just picture this treasured family time at our dinner table...

"I found another deal on tires," I blurt out during a pause in our conversation. 

My daughter looks blankly out the window as she chews on her last potato. My wife smiles and nods. "Can you pass the salad, please." 

I passed the salad, but am not deterred. "I also got our cable company to cut another five dollars off our monthly bill. They matched the competitor's pricing." 

My daughter swallows half a glass of milk and starts to leave the table. I grab her arm, but she somehow twists out of my hold. My wife tries to feign interest. "Hmm, that's nice." 

Our Korean student, to my surprise, nods with approval, knowing that I have accomplished something immeasurable. At least she understands, or so she's led me to believe. 

As I recount this somewhat fictional dinner conversation, I wonder where this is all going to end up. Will it end up with me lying on a psychiatrist's couch, staring up at the ceiling as I divulge my disease in episodic fits of rage and flashbacks?

Is that when I'll let it all out?

"It all started one day in October with this big man sitting in a car... I think he was eating a pumpkin pie blizzard. He was enjoying every single bite."