It’s late. In the last fifteen minutes, I’ve heard a few expletives. No, it’s not Mom. (Oh, to be a decade ago when that joke would have been relevant!)
What’s happening is — our soft and cushy, variegated beige, cheap recliner doesn’t have a built-in censor sensor. In the quarter-hour between the moment Hubby falls asleep in that apparatus, and the beginning of the Symphony of Snore, the Remote Control is officially unattended.
But this is dangerous territory. Boy, Howdy, that’s when Yours Truly—ten feet away—gets an update on the way crazy changes taking place on Planet Earth.
Pretty soon, I’m checking the waters: “Honey? Are you awake?”
For my younger readers, Expletive Deleted refers to censored profanity. The phrase became known after the Nixon/Watergate issue. I, for one, give thanks that it was employed mostly to prevent using the Lord’s name in vain.
Our family doesn’t watch broadcast cable or network television; just streaming movies and documentaries. (Side Bar: This is America’s Number One activity. What’s up with that? People should come Square Dancing! But I digress.)
When I hear peppery jargon from the flat-screen in the family room, Hubby gets a discreet screen pass of a wadded-up paper ball. Wow! Suddenly, the cheap recliner’s low-tech mechanism kicks in. It’s a show-stopper. ‘Good thing, because I have no clue which remote does what. Sleepy Dude just clicks something. (When all else fails, I do know how to hit the Off button.)
Okay, okay, Certain Reader: I can’t say I never think or speak coarsely. But when that old nature rears her ugly head, God deals with me. So most of the time, I’m sensitive to when the idiot box starts crossing the line.
Anyway, be forewarned, Sleepy Recliner Man: this Mother Hen is is getting to have a pretty good arm.