But, just like all men, Calvin has his quirks. Take the remote control, for example. I mean we've got a gazillion around here. There are remote controls for every TV--including the one in the garage, every blue-ray player--including the one in the garage, every stereo--including the one in the garage, every ceiling fan--including...well, hell, take my word for it, he's got a lot.
I almost hate to go shopping with him. The last time we went looking for a new coffee maker, he got a glazed look in his eyes as he picked up box after box. "Do you think any of these come with remote controls?"
What is it with men and those "buttony" gadgets anyhow?
Where his addiction is the worst is in his recliner in front of the TV in the living room. He has the remote for the television, the Direct TV, and the blue-ray all on his lap or on the arm of his chair. Because, you know, he NEEDS them nearby.
Now these remotes have a way of ending up in odd places. Why? Because DH hates to part with all of them when he goes to do something. They're like his security blanket, only smaller and with buttons. I've found one on the tub beside the commode. In the ice maker tub in the freezer. In the mailbox. I'd have loved to witness the mail lady's expression on that one. And beside the cookie jar. Enough said.
So, Calvin decided to secure the remotes to his recliner. He took pieces of yarn and tied one end of each around every remote and the other end around the recliner's handle since he never reclines. Well, before long, these yarn strings resembled tangled fishing wire. He went to the hardware store and bought thin rope.
I never said a word.
He is, after all, the King of Remotes in this house.
I never said a word.
None of them held the rope in place. He went to his tool chest in the garage and rummaged until he found a roll of electrical tape. It held for one day.
Not to be bested by a remote and a piece of rope, Calvin took the whole works out to the garage where much cursing and slamming of drawers followed. Suddenly, there was silence. He walked in, chest puffed out. "I think I've found the solution to the problem. Come see."
I followed him out. "First I dipped the rope into the glue and then placed the tape over the gooey mess. I've got it cranked tight in this until it all dries..."
The rope, glue, and tape did hold. The remote's buttons, however, were permanently smashed flat.