The Bane of His Existence

by Becky T. Lane of Seasonality

There are occasions when I make my husband absolutely insane. Take Saturday night, for instance. He had spent the entire day playing with his latest gift to me, yet another new universal remote control, and he was almost giddy over it. He was convinced that this was the holy grail of remotes, the one that would finally do what all the others had only claimed they could – allow you to use a single gizmo to control oodles of equipment.

So, a little before eight o’clock, when he announced that he was heading down to the Bat Cave to watch Battlestar Gallactica on his HUGE, MANLY TV, and I wanted to stay upstairs to watch Rosemary & Thyme on my itty-bitty low-tech tv, I panicked. “Wait a minute Buster! You haven’t taught me how to use the new remote yet!” Looking extremely put out, for he hadn’t much time, he grabbed up the new black gizmo with all the tiny black buttons, who’s labels I couldn’t even see, much less read, and started rattling off instructions a mile a minute, about doing this for regular TV and that for Direct TV and this for DVD, until finally I burst out with “Wait! This is making no sense to me. I can’t even see which buttons you are pointing to!” That’s when he gave me “The Look” … that extremely pained expression that I’ve seen a million times before … the one that clearly asks “How can any person, in this day and age, still be so hopeless when it comes to technology?” Then his shoulders sagged, and his face switched to that other familiar expression – the look of resignation. “Forget it,” he said with a heavy sigh, as he tossed the remote into a chair. “Just go back to using the other remotes, like you did before,” and he trudged away in defeat.

I feel so bad, for squelching the excitement he gets from each new gizmo that comes along. If only I could follow the example he sets, when dealing with something that doesn’t particularly interest him. If only I were willing to spend hours on research and study, even when something bores me to tears. Didn’t he go out of his way to read up on all those plants he bought, to make sure he was getting the right plant for the right spot and knew how to care for them, so that he wasn’t just pouring money down the drain? Didn’t he manage to learn how to follow a recipe, and how to make at least a few decent meals, in case we were ever in a pinch? What about those armloads of child-rearing books that he lugged home from the library when we first learned we were expecting? When I think of the hours he spent studying them, so that he might become the best parent he could possibly be… Oh, wait. Perhaps I’m getting confused. Come to think of it, he hasn’t read word one about any of those subjects!

As I recall, he’s killed just about every single thing he’s ever planted, and though he shows up with the latest and greatest new barbecue pit every few years, he still can’t tell the difference between a piece of meat that’s good for grilling, and one that needs to be slow cooked for hours to be chewable. I guess that was me who did all the research on those subjects…so that he wouldn’t have to… because he’s just… not… interested!

So, now, remind me again. Why is it such a terrible crime that I won’t sit down and read up on every new gizmo that he drags home – especially knowing that in a few short months he is bound to tell me that it is now “obsolete” and needs to be replaced?