I mean, I have heard about women fussing and griping about this malady from the year of one, and arrogant me, never thought that there would come the day when I would fall victim, cast among the desolate remoteless ranks.
I sat back in resignation the other day, and watched as DV stepped into my abode, made himself comfortable, and picked up my remote control and automatically changed the channel to ESPN. I mean, he did not even give it a thought. He was just an automaton with a glazed TV-viewing look in his eyes, the testosterone actively pulling his stings, as apparently, he could not have been comfortable in the vicinity of a television, and not have the remote in his hand.
Has anyone given this some form of scientific study? Is there a cure that I should attempt to find to appease the women of the world, and give them some say as to the channel rendezvous points? I know that there is a bag of money to be made should a cure be discovered.
In attempting to garner some control of my control, I have tried reason: “Why don’t you find something that we both can watch?” Painfully guising my impatience, and clenched teeth.
I have tried cajoling: “Pllleeeaaasee! I was watching that!” Painfully gnashing my clenched teeth.
I have tried the feminine wiles: “You don’t wanna watch this ol’ thing, now do you, Pumpkin?” Struttin’ and sauntering in front of the TV, deceptive alluring smile guising clenched teeth and fists.
I have tried tactless fact: “Star, this is my TV!” Parting my lips and emitting intimidating growls, displaying my clenched teeth, getting even more incensed at his raucous dismissive laughter.
I have tried violence: “Gimme the flicking thing or I goin’ t’ump you!” Then, would unclench my teeth and fists, jump on him, and start to t’ump him and bite him; getting even more irate as he snickers and holds the remote above his head, well out of my reach.
I have tried theft. But, learned the hard way that when I stole the remote and ran out of the room crowing with victory, that I needed to be in the room for it to work. Eventually, I would have to go back in and face the music. Crap.
And of course, I would mix and match: cajoling and violence; feminine wiles, reason, cajoling and violence; violence in isolation; tactless fact and violence, etc.
Now, I just give up and pray that he falls asleep so that I can change the channel, but, as fate would have it, I am always the first to sleep. I just accredit this to the fact that ESPN bores me to death. I have sat through football season, and prayed for the end of the torture with the Super bowl. Then, I had to suffer through basketball season, where I learned about well placed screens, and flagrant fouls. Go Celtics.
Now, it scares me that throughout all of my suffering and newfound resignation that I would never again sit and watch a program of my choice, somehow, something has been sinking in. Crap. I am being programmed subliminally.
His revolution is indeed televised. Dyam remote hog!
On that note, I shall now exit.