The level of control I maintain in our household sometimes is par with the level of interest I have in being decapitated. Which is to say, none. None control sometimes I tell you!!! I think this simple household truth is most plainly evident in the frequency (or lack thereof) with which I get to watch my own television.
Obviously, in order to maintain some kind of sanity, we have taken to raising our children to be lazy, lethargic, 900-pound, mouth-breathing couch potatoes, and pacify them with movie watching every so often. In so doing, we have empowered them to believe they have complete control of the living room and all that comes with it.
They have instituted dictatorial rule over the room and decreed that no mommy or daddy shall enter unless he or she brings gifts to shower upon the sovereign leaders of this carpeted nation, and those gifts must include (but are not limited to) chocolate milk, baby carrots with ranch dressing, or a wedge of apple with the peel cut off. Failure to comply with this regulation is punishable by incessant whining from The Great and Powerful (although very short) Dictators.
Ninety-five percent of the time, I abide by this dictum. I elect to avoid the blood-curdling screams and instead travel the path of least resistance, which leads directly to the dust-covered TV in the garage. I mean come on.. we’re talking about picking and choosing our battles here… But on occasion I do launch a revolt and initiate a hostile takeover of The Living Room. I generally time these offensives in coordination with programs that demand my immediate attention , or the long awaited beauty rest my three Kings deserve.
So… what do I do, I storm up to the thrones of The Great and Powerful Dictators and declare, “Hear ye! Hear ye! It is my turn to watch TV in The Living Room. All heads of state must yield the remote forthwith.”
The Great and Powerful Dictators resist, unleashing their unique weapons of war: tears, tantrums, claims of not liking me anymore. To which I respectfully reply, “Then so bit it, little ones. For I shall still like you and pledge never to permit Thomas the Tank Engine or Mickey Mouse to interfere with my allegiance to your highnesses. Now make haste, for the program is neigh”
But oh how crafty The Great and Powerful Dictators can be. At seven bells last evening, I settled in with a chalice full of Caffeine-Free Diet Coke to enjoy a night of Law and Order and the Apprentice. But alas, the remote control is nowhere to be found. Such divisiveness can only be interpreted as an act of war, and its perpetrators must bear the full might of The Revolution.
“Will The Great and Powerful Dictators please join me in the foyer?” I shout. “The Revolution seeks an audience with your majesties.”
They mope down the hall and join me in The Living Room. I address them.
“If it pleases the three Kings of The Living Room, your humble servant wishes to know the current location of the kingdom’s remote control device.”
“Why are you talking like that, Mom” One King Asks… “You sound silly.”
“With all due respect, your grace, please zippeth thy trap. “The Revolution requires an answer to its inquiry. Where is thy remote?”
“I dunno,” the eldest King replies. “he had it last”…pointing his finger in a direction which led no where.
“Your King hath been implicated,” I say to him. “Do tell: where hath the device been hidden?”
“What are you even talking about, mom? I can’t understand you.”
“Where’s the remote?!” I begin to lose my composure.
The eldest King says nothing. He merely shrugs his shoulders.
“So be it then!” I say. “The Great and Powerful Dictators of The Living Room shall be cast into exile until such time as the remote is returned to its rightful owners: the people of The Rev-ah-looshe-ee-own! Please retreat to your quarters, and may God have mercy on your souls.”
Never did find the remote, but at least I showed ’em who’s boss.
PS.. Universal remotes on sale right now for 4.95 at Walmart!