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.
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.
“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.
Putting on my best disappointed, sad face I edge over to the 70-inch monsters, pointing out the wonderful color.
And that is how you get your way.
I love it when a plan comes together.
Someone give me a cigar.