We’re getting a new big screen TV delivered tomorrow.

I’m as giddy as a 7-year old the night before Christmas.
Buying new stuff is the fountain of youth.

The old 50-inch finally rolled over and died two weeks ago.

Actually, I think the bulb wore out because the wife leaves the TV running all the time when she’s home.

(Update: it was the bulb. I’m a double winner.)

But that’s a guess and I keep it to myself.

After all, if I’m right the 50-inch with a new bulb goes into the bedroom.

I’ve been after her for a bigger and more football friendly TV for years.

The answer has always been, “There’s nothing wrong with the one we got”.

Now there’s finally something wrong and boy am I happy.

I wanted a 70-inch so I suggested to my bride we get a big 80-inch TV like the rich people and pretend we’re at the movie with popcorn and soda and stuff like that.

“No way”, she says.

Suiting my plan.

I whine, I beg, I whimper and make a sorry pest out of myself.

She doesn’t budge.
The woman can have a heart of stone.

The next day we’re off to Best Buy and look at TVs.

I zero in an an expensive 80-inch.
I say it’s almost like being there in the middle of the action.

“No” again.

Putting on my best disappointed, sad face I edge over to the 70-inch monsters, pointing out the wonderful color.

She says that okay because it’s not an 80-inch.

And that is how you get your way.

I love it when a plan comes together.
Someone give me a cigar.