So we got satellite TV today, which I am writing about because the process was hilarious. First of all (this sounds like the beginning of a bad joke) one was from here and one was from New Jersey and had been living here for two years. (He volunteered this information upon seeing the Husband's Steelers blankie--hey, grown men in cold climates like blankies--and finding out that the Husband spent a few years in New Jersey until paroled at the age of nine.) They arrived just ahead of the Husband and were in the process of explaining to me the difference between coaxle 59 and coaxle 6 cable when he walked in.
Sat Guy: You thee (he had a lisp), if we hook up to the coakthle 59 cable, it'll jutht burn out and we'll have to come back in a week. We want to get thith done and get it done right. What we'll do ith put in coakthle thikth cable.
Husband walks in. Sat Guy repeats all this to the Husband. I've been nodding like a bobblehead the whole time and jiggling Brother, who is wide-eyed, and hoping that all this talk of coakthle won't wake up Mith--er, Miss Boo from her nap.
They thud around outside for awhile before finally waking Miss Boo with a drill that sounds like six banshees have been tied together and swung round with an elk bugle. They used the drill again in my living room, with Sat Guy 2 (not the one with the lisp) scattering shavings merrily around my just-vacuumed carpet.
Sat Guy 1 eventually had to leave to go rescue some other hapless Sat Guy 2, leaving OUR Sat Guy 2 to fumble around with the remote and directions and finally clean up his shavings with an extremely loud shopvac. (A dustbuster would have done it.)
However. At last he left after I picked up the remote and demonstrated that I already knew how to use it (better than he did) and we shooed him out the door. So now I have learned how to record things on the DVR, and I am watching Out of Africa and thinking I ought to go to bed.
This is what we get for being decadent. Hey-ho!
Cheers,
Breanna
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