When the occasion arises to watch TV at my brother’s place, I think I’ll make the popcorn while he sets up.

My ex had a similarly baroque set-up, and he fussed and kvetched over me while I learned the necessary sequences to initiate TV-watching and program taping. I became pretty well accustomed to it, able to walk into the room, click a mere six or seven buttons, and settle down to watch a show.

Then came the evil day: he left one of the many remotes on the couch, and in his absence, I sat on it. If my bum knew what buttons it pressed (and in what sequence) to produce that daunting blue screen, it wasn’t telling. When he came home to discover my rash act (She dared to sit!) had prevented me from taping that night’s re-run of Babylon 5*, the house rang with pointed disappointment and condescension.

Did I mention: ex?

*I am so not making this up.

I am participating in NaBloPoMo.