I wake up feeling refreshed, so I practically jump out of bed when Michael’s alarm goes off. I have big plans for the day - Christmas decorating, a little baking, starting my shopping.
As soon as Michael leaves for work, I go into the living room to turn on the stereo. Since we got our new receiver, I've kept it tuned to NPR, but now Michael’s favorite blues station comes on.
I hunt down my glasses, get on my knees and peer at the receiver. WTF!? There’s no tuning button. There’s no volume button either. “What the hell good is a receiver with no volume or tuning button?,” I ask the receiver. I look at the remote in my hand and punch just about every button I see- arrows, double arrows, plus and minus buttons, but nothing changes. F***!! Then I pick up each of the other six remotes and try all those buttons. F***!!
(To help you understand the extent of my frustration, I would write out each “F” word I yell, but I can’t ‘cause I try to keep this blog to under 600 words.)
I call Michael, who is driving to work. His BlueTooth doesn't pick up, so he has to pull over. I feel bad that I’m interrupting his commute; he’s our only bread winner right now, so my listening to the radio is not nearly as important as him getting to work safely and on time.
But still … I want NPR. I’m stuck at home a lot these days, and I need NPR’s company.
I start yelling to Michael … OK - yelling at him, but I’m laughing, too, because I know I’m completely overreacting.
MICHAEL, I HATE WHEN YOU CHANGE THE SETTINGS ON THE STEREO … I JUST WANT TO LISTEN TO NPR … I CAN’T EVEN CHANGE THE STATION… I HATE ALL THESE REMOTES… I HATE WHEN I CAN’T FIGURE THIS OUT!
Michael starts laughing, too. Then he calmly tells me where to find the tuning button on the small remote. He emphasizes small. “Which of the three small remotes is that, exactly?,” I ask, only a little sarcastically. Turns out it’s the one in my hand, which by the way, has a clearly marked tuning button which I swear was not there before. I hit it and magically, the station changes.
I thank Michael and quickly get off the phone so he can get to work. Later, I sheepishly text an apology. Then I apologize again in person when he gets home.
Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong century, as far as technology goes anyways. The next time I can’t figure out the remote, (because I assure you, and Michael would assure you, that it will happen again), I’ll just pretend I was born in another century, and hum some Christmas carols.
But as a back-up, I add this to my Christmas list:
Small, portable radio, preferably with ability to preset stations, to keep in the kitchen SO I DON'T HAVE TO FIGURE OUT WHICH OF THE 7 REMOTES WORKS THE STEREO RADIO RECEIVER THAT DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A TUNING OR VOLUME BUTTON.
Because that might help me feel remotely in control.