de Vos: The husband app
The Friday Report
There is no such thing as “wireless technology”. Cell phones, laptops, tablets and the like, can all take halting steps away from that plug in the wall, but they’re condemned to return at night like vampires sucking on some hapless neck. Cordless anything isn’t really cordless at all, after you plug in those sadistic chargers that cover both outlets. Ear buds turn into Rastafarian dreadlocks at the blink of an eye.
But I’m not complaining, just pointing out that I’m totally more laid back about wires than my wife. For instance, if I have something on the east side of the living room that needs to be plugged into the west side of the room, I’m fine with draping the wires across the coffee table and over the sleeping hound on the floor.
I personally could live that way until the divorce, but my wife is neither as tolerant nor easy-going as I am.
“Can’t you at least put the wires behind the sofa?” she said of my new speakers.
“I dunno,” I replied doubtfully, “a cat could get back there and chew ‘em up and I might not notice if I can’t see ‘em.”
She stared at me like a museum exhibit, “We don’t have a cat.”
“Well,” I said, “look at you, all argumentative again. The cat was just a for-instance.”
Oddly, my wife sees a cord running across the living room as a character flaw. One that only she can set straight by standing her ground between me and the TV until I get up and “do something”.
There is a growing chance that we have the last telephone landline west of the Rockies. We keep it, she says “for when the relatives call.” Landlines, you may remember, were attached to the wall and came loaded with just a single app that didn’t do anything except let you speak to another person who was far away.
Back in the living room and completely unbeknownst to me, one of our cabinets had turned shabby and unsightly overnight. My wife, a devout Stewartista, quickly had a sparkly new Martha-endorsed cabinet in place of the former horribly dreadful one. Taller, the new cabinet also neatly blocked the phone outlet.
“Great!” I shouted, “Who needs a landline in this day and age?”
“Stand up!” my wife shouted, “Move the phone jack!”
I looked up at her nose, standing between me and the TV and let out a big defeated sigh, “Are you sure? I think the wire would look fine draped over the top.”
She stared down at me like we were back in the museum, “You have so many tools out there in the garage. They must do something. My party’s this weekend and frankly, your quality of life depends on those wires being gone by then.”
“We could rearrange all the furniture so nobody looked that direction,” I said, “That would work wouldn’t it? Huh? Wouldn’t it? By the way, did you know you’re standing in front of the TV?”
The temperature in the room had suddenly grown uncomfortable. With another disconsolate sigh, I went about gathering the stuff I needed to move the stupid phone jack so her party goers wouldn’t be offended by the horrific sight of eight inches of telephone cord.
I started, of course, with the obligatory three trips to the hardware store. I spend a lot of time there on Saturdays with other husbands complaining about stuff like wireless technology.
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