Thursday, 30 December 2010
21st Century Revival
You may recall that Hubby and I were recently dismayed by the fact that we've lost the television remote. Not that we don't have three other remotes, but that this one is required in order to ensure that whatever we're watching is stretched to the right screen size - wide or square, short or long, zoomed in or out.
And holy shit - he found it. "I just had an effing revelation" he claimed.
The whole recovery started when last night I asked him to go online and find out how much a new one would cost. 40 friggin bucks, apparently.
"I'm telling you - it's in that couch" he said.
"No, I checked the couch a hundred times, inside and out, under and behind cushions, behind the lining. It' not in the couch" I replied.
"I'm telling you, it has to be."
"No way. You definitely picked it up with your phone or something and put it down somewhere else in the house. You just did that last week!"
I had him there. Last weekend he came upstairs and brought his phone, its charger, and the basement tv remote with him into the kitchen.
But he wouldn't let it go. This morning he repeated his hunch: "It's in that damn couch."
Well, he proceeded to pull out the couch from the wall and dive in behind it. I ignored him. He dug around back there for a while and then his head popped up from between the wall and the sofa.
"Oh my god, com'ere!" he said.
"No way. You're kidding."
When I refused to get up from my comfy chair, he explained how he "just knew it" - he just "had a feeling". He explained how when you reach behind the pillows into the lining, you think you've gone as far as you can, but there is apparently a lining behind the lining - and Hubby was apparently smart enough to know that.
He jumped up from behind the couch, arm out-stretched in the air, remote in hand.
Ahh, sweet redemption.
The obligatory victory dance and crazy laughter followed, and he is, as we speak, singing up a storm in the shower.
Ok, so, Hubby: 1; Wifey: 3,226,517.