All I have to say for myself is: the sofa started it.
I knew we weren’t cut out for drama when the most exciting thing that happened on a recent weekend was that the sofa ate the television remote. I can’t prove it, but the clues are clear.
One moment we had the remote that controls the entire television and streaming empire we have at our fingertips, and the next, we did not. That little black remote, roughly the size of a pack of playing cards, operates everything we need to be entertained. Without it, our television is a literal blank black box.
I used the general theory of “it will turn up” and tried not to show fear. I casually flipped over some throw pillows, rifled in the sofa blankets and asked the dogs if they had seen it. They had not. It’s not edible, so Nova showed no interest in finding it.
When it didn’t turn up in the first hour, Mr. Wonderful got the idea to replay the living room camera video to see where I might’ve dropped it. The answer: I didn’t. It just seems to have vanished into thin air.
At that point, it was just the principle of the thing. We looked over and under all the furnishings. We shook out cushions. We went near and far in case it had somehow levitated to another room in the house.
We finally got the idea to take the entire sofa and flip it upside down. We discovered that there is likely some space within the frame that we cannot really access without cutting the leather of the sofa. I won’t be doing that to retrieve a $29.99 device.
It’s been over a month, and the remote still has not shown up, so we have come to accept that somehow it slid deep into the recesses of the sofa.
Fortunately, I realize that I can actually control the television with an app on my phone. With this, the total domination of cell phones to my lifestyle is complete. I am helpless without my phone, apparently. I use it to read with my Kindle app, communicate, listen to music and podcasts and now, control the television too.
Wild
The best part of the whole situation was when I shared in a family-wide group text that I had no idea where that remote had gone. I used the phrase “it’s wild” to describe how perplexing it was. To this our sweet son-in-law replied, “you know your family is low drama when a missing remote control constitutes a wild Friday night.” I had to laugh because he is not wrong.
I am not a person who craves adrenaline or excitement. The ultimate good time for me is being home with family, friends and dogs. The cat may also be there, but “fun” isn’t really his thing — random sneak attacks and ninja ways are more Kai’s modus operandi.
My recent scares with accidents and illness really took it out of me. I don’t like any bit of that kind of attention. Sure, I like a good adventure — if by “adventure” you mean we try a new coffee shop and go to a new thrift shop. I do like to see what somebody’s mee-maw’s old afghans are going for in a different region.
I have also begun to venture out to our nephew’s soccer games. He’s 5 years old, so they aren’t exactly nail biters yet. I’m in it for a fun afternoon sitting on the sidelines and soaking up the utter adorableness of small children in shin guards as tall as they are.
In an alternate life, perhaps, I would like a moment where I have the opportunity to dramatically sweep everything off a table to make room for a giant map that I’ll use to explain some grand plan. Then again, I’d complain about the mess. It’s probably best that we don’t have that kind of excitement in our lives.
I just want to stay home and watch television programs where people pick out wallpaper. That’s my speed. There is not even a remote chance that I’m likely to change anytime soon.
