He or she who controls the television remote controls the kingdom. In our house, my wife is master of the television remote. She rules over it like Queen Victoria at Buckingham Palace. Oh, Prince Albert may have thought he had a certain degree of mastery, but no. It resides squarely in the hand of, well, the hand. Control is seldom relinquished – most usually if she’s still in bed or has gone to use the computer in another room. In those cases, I wait a discreet amount of time, then cautiously approach the remote, fingers trembling. Continue reading “Riding Remote Shotgun”
I'm Thinking...No! 