Award-winning writer: Jackie Papandrew

Airing My Dirty Laundry!

Trivial Pursuits

You men reading this, prepare yourselves for what I’m about to tell you. Be sure you are sitting down. You may need to grab hold of a heavy object in case you feel faint.

Recently, I hid our televisions’ remote controls. (Those of you who were still standing and have just recoiled in horror and, in the process, knocked over multiple members of your family, don’t say I didn’t warn you.) It gets worse. Sadly, the hiding place I’d chosen for the remotes was so good I forgot where it was. And so the beloved remotes – the idols before which so many men genuflect – were missing in action in our house for two whole weeks. Wars have been waged with lesser cause.

Let me explain myself. I did not take this action lightly. It was a measure of last resort. As my female readers know, remote control reverence has gotten out of hand. Men whose ancestors tamed the wilderness through backbreaking labor now ensconce themselves on the couch, unable even to cross the living room to change the channel. Hours can slip by as they wear out the buttons on the hand-held hazards, flipping through hundreds of channels and pausing only when they spot a show featuring either a sporting event or scantily clad women (or, on really good days, both).

When they actually want to put the remotes down for a brief period, the men who have been on the couch long enough and have grown large enough can avoid even the minor effort involved in placing them on a table. They can simply let them fall from their hands, and rest easy knowing the devices will be caught and securely held until needed by the folds in their bellies. The remote empowers the lazy. It has truly become a plastic pestilence.

Annoyed by all the undone chores around my house, I decided to make war on this object of worship. I did initially seek a diplomatic solution to the problem. First, I used the standard Sigh And Shake Protocol (SASP) employed by legions of women before me. Whenever I passed the living room and saw my man stretched out like a slumbering sea lion, I’d sigh heavily and shake my head in obvious disgust. I tried this for several days, making my sighs louder and windier each time, until I eventually needed an oxygen tank just to keep it up. This had no effect.

Then I tried the Silverware Slam. Every time I was putting away the clean silverware, I’d loudly slam it into the drawer, hoping to send a message. You’d think this would have done the trick, but my man simply increased the TV volume.

Thus, I was left with little choice. When no one was looking, I slipped all the remotes that run our lives inside a game of Trivial Pursuit that was sitting on the coffee table. Then, feeling very clever, I put the game in the top of a closet, intending to retrieve it after a short time. Predictably, there was a lot of lamentation over the lost devices. Search parties were formed to look high and low. You’d think a precious gem was missing. You’d think I was missing, assuming my husband would look as fervently for me as he looked for those remotes.

Finally, after leaving him in agony for a few hours, I confessed to hiding the things. Then I informed him they would remain hidden until at least some of the items on my long-delayed Honey-Do List had been accomplished. And, after a few days, he did them. But because the Trivial Pursuit game was not one of my usual hiding places and because the old memory ain’t what it used to be, I forgot where I’d put the remotes. And then, I was the one in agony because everyone was mad at me for ruining their TV time. I was even mad at myself.

For two long weeks, I searched. I even scheduled a service call with the cable company to obtain new remotes since our TVs require devices that only a highly trained cable guy can program. But before the cable guy could come, I suddenly remembered – after hearing someone (on TV, of course) use the phrase “trivial pursuit” – where I’d put those blasted pieces of plastic.

I’ve promised to never again pull such a stunt. But I think I made my point. Or not.

~ Jackie Papandrew ~
© 2008, All Rights Reserved

Jackie Papandrew is an award-winning writer, syndicated humor columnist, coffee addict and mom to a motley crew of children and pets who provide a steady stream of column ideas and dirt. She's also wife to a very patient man who had no idea, years ago when he still had time to escape, what he was getting himself into. Visit her website at:  JackiePapandrew.com

[ by Jackie Papandrew Copyright © 2008, (me@jackiepapandrew.com) -- submitted by: Jackie Papandrew ]


Inspirational Humor     SkyWriting.Net     All Rights Reserved.