Last night after my daughters went upstairs with my husband for the usual bedtime routine, I filled a glass of water and plopped on the couch. Then I proceeded to get up, get down on my hands and knees and start searching under furniture for the REMOTE CONTROL. My hands dug into the depths of my couch on each side of the cushions. As usual, the looking escalated to ridiculous, searching on the kitchen counters, under the girls' table in the dining room, on top of the television, or even crazier in the little basket I have exclusively reserved for our remotes. NADA. Big sigh.
My hands don't touch the remote control all day long. Heck, I only needed one channel these last three weeks and that was Versus Television to catch my morning fix of Tour de France coverage. At some point I gave in, walked up to the television and picked a channel to watch, TLC. No surfing for me. I plopped back down.
Then my thoughts began to reminisce about these bad boys: The corded cable box. The good ol' days. 37 channels of viewing bliss, just flip a switch on the left hand side to top, middle, or bottom then select the button for the channel. Bonus of the cord, the box never, ever, ever was lost. No searching mindlessly in a refrigerator or bathroom, just follow the cord. Who needs digital, 100's of channels when you could have the peace of mind of never losing a remote control again.
Before turning in for the night, I always glance on twitter to see what's happening. That's when I saw this tweet from @ChefDaveLA that made me laugh out loud: Why did I find it so funny? Well other than the obvious, my story ends with my husband sitting down asking if he can put the news on. I say go for it, but I don't have the remote. He stands up, looks behind me and grabs the remote. I had moved one of the large cushions from the back of the couch to rest my head on. Where was the remote? Just sitting there in plain view. Nice.