Like many other human beings, I was deeply unhappy with the Lost finale the other night, and with the final season overall. Mostly for the usual reasons (they all walk into the light? seriously?), but also for one specific reason: the death of Sun and Jin, the doomed Korean lovers.

[SPOILER ALERT!] In case you didn’t see the show, here’s how they died: They were on a submarine and a bomb went off, blowing a hole in the side and trapping Sun under a piece of debris. She tells Jin to leave her, he says he won’t, and they drown lovingly together, speaking their non-native English all the way to the end.

Romantic, right? Well, the only problem here is that they’ve got a 3-year-old daughter back out in the real world, who’s now an orphan. Um, great parenting, guys! Hate to be judgmental, but I think it’s better to skip the romance and let the kid have her father around.

But that’s not my real complaint. My real problem is that my wife happened to watch that episode (and the finale, which flashed back to it) with me, and now constantly asks me what I’d do in that situation. This is one of those impossible, no-win spousal arguments:

• Me: “But who’s going to look after Sasha?”
• Jean: “Pretend she doesn’t exist.”
• Me: “But I don’t want to die!”
• Jean: “Hmph!”

Is there any way to get out of this? I mean, besides just saying yes, I’ll die with you? If only Lost had ended in such a way that I could imagine my death actually helped save the world, I could maybe be okay with it. But we all know now that Lost was a gigantic waste of time—a compelling, complicated drama that eventually turned its back on everything that made it appear to be good. And that does not put me in a romantic mood. Sorry, Jean. As Jack always said, “Live together, die alone.”