I’ve made a lot of jokes about how dull I am, during my lifetime.

Little did I know then that I was a laugh-riot, compared to how mind-numbingly boring I seem to have become.

Not that I necessarily mind. Given the tumultuousness of the past four or five years, being blasé about things kind of feels like a gift. There’s really nothing quite like a nervous breakdown or two to make one realize the appeal of tedium.

Add to that three months of blessedly (almost) drama-free, stone-cold sobriety and, honestly, I’ve gone beyond getting used to mundanity. I downright embrace it.

In other words, I have absolutely no qualms about spending my weekends doing home improvement projects and going to bed every night at 9:30 p.m.

Nor am I even remotely embarrassed by the fact that I purposely wake up three hours before work every morning, so I can spend time drinking coffee and watching episode after episode of “The Great British Baking Show.”

Because, really, if obsessively watching English people make weird desserts with jam in them is wrong, well, folks, I don’t want to be right.

I also don’t understand why they put jam in everything, but that’s beside the point.

Starting my day with this show has become such a ritual for me that I recently signed up to give PBS money every month for probably the rest of my days, so I could binge the most recent episodes in a matter of hours. Seemed like a fair trade to me.

I’ve also watched every available Master Class with Paul and Mary.

And since I’m totally at peace with my patheticness, fine, I’ll admit it — I’ve just begun re-watching the first season, from the beginning, until there are some new ones available.

Sure, it may sound like a fixation to some people — but I prefer to think of it as being loyal to my (albeit pretend) friends.

And friends they have become — even Paul with his hard-to-read, blue-eyed stares. I started out disliking Mel and Sue, and now I heart them. And Mary is so sweet, even when she’s basically saying something’s horrible. All the bakers are nice to each other, too, despite the competition.

As a person who finds even televised conflict and confrontation stressful, I love that. I can’t stand American reality shows, where everyone has an affected persona and spews nonsense like, “I didn’t come here to lose” when shouting at the camera.

Also, I like the way they pronounce “layers,” “laahhhhs.”

When talking to my coworker Lindsey about my fondness for the show, she agreed that she, too, watches it occasionally.

“But the stuff they make looks disgusting half the time,” she said.

Granted, not everything that comes out of that tent is something I want to sink my teeth into. The Charlotte Royale looked like a giant brain. Floating balls of meringue in a sea of custard? Eh, no thanks.

A fruitcake decorated to look like a tennis court? Not exactly disgusting, but strange on so many levels. So specific, yet so random.

Which is another reason why this show is so awesome.

And honestly, let’s face it, whether the results are appetizing or not, watching it all being made is the exciting bit.

Heck, by my standards lately?

I’d say it’s downright boisterous.

Katie McDowell is a lifestyles writer/copy editor. Email her at kmcdowell@dominionpost.com.