Rule: don't laugh when your TV explodes

Monday night Ann and I were watching THE VOICE when our television blew up.  The TV was only 10 years out of warranty and was one of the newer ones where you can pour the coal directly into the side of the set instead of the back.  And, notwithstanding that NBC passed on a one-hour drama I recently pitched them, I hold no grudges.  But if you don't want my series, a simple "No" will do. You don’t have to death-beam me, although in their defense my watching THE VOICE probably validated their pass on me as a dramatic writer.

You can tell how long a couple has been together based on how close they sit on the couch when watching TV. 

One to three years and you’re still thigh-touching pretty close -- these are the good old days unless you don’t have air conditioning.

Four to ten years and you’ve made room for a kid or two, but you can still hold hands, though they are always sticky, now.

Over ten years and the distance between you depends on the size of your lap tops, smart phones, tablets AND snacks. 

Anything over ten years and it’s like you’re in the back seat with your cousin yelling, “He’s touching me! He’s touching me!”

How long have we been married?  Long enough that when the TV blew, I was on one end of the couch and she was on the other.  Couldn’t be further away and still be on the same piece of furniture.  What we tell people is that it isn’t our fault the manufacturer put the lounger parts on both ends, but really, “She’s touching me and we don’t have air conditioning.”

No one was injured when it blew and when I say “No one” I mean me, because our 20 pound cat was comfortably nestled on Ann’s lap, pretending to be asleep as he slowly got to second base.  If you’ve met Mac, you know what I mean. He’s a cat, sure. But he ain’t dumb. And the dude’s got moves.

Tell the truth. When you think exploding TV, don’t you flash on the Nakatomi Building in DIE HARD?  Yeah.  But no.  What really happens is that nothing explodes out the front, there is just this hugely deafening internal explosion.  And then your cat claws up the front of your wife like Snooki and Jwoww ice climbing in new heels and nails up the north face of the Eiger.  Lots of screaming and hissing and take my word for it, this was not the best time to laugh.

The guest room does not have a television, but I am able to get a good iPad connection for Hulu, which will be handy.  Mac is still a little jumpy, you don’t want to slam a door behind him – he turns into the Halloween black cat but he’s the size of a Vespa. A Vespa with attitude.

And Ann’s fine. She posted a list on the guest room door of the stuff she wanted me to get at Costco.  The last was a new TV.  So she’s fine.  Macy’s called about delivering a bigger couch. But she’s fine.