Not even a very remote possibility

I thought the new big screen TV for Mother’s Day was great idea.
My wife, The Pearl of the Orient, didn’t even twig to it. Even after watching it for two hours, there was not the slightest glimmer of recognition or appreciation.
And then she saw the new remote.
“What’s that thing for!” she demanded with scorn generally reserved for a vile serpent.
“It’s just the TV remote,” I replied with equanimity.
“NOOO! This is the TV remote!” stated The Pearl forcefully, waving the other new remote we had received two days earlier for the new satellite receiver.
“Yes,” I replied calmly and clearly, “but that’s for the satellite, not the new TV.”
“What new TV?” questioned The Pearl, her eyes searching every corner of the room but the one where the giant one-eyed monster stood?
Finally clueing in that the only TV in the room was considerably larger, The Pearl uttered a resounding, “Humpff! Now I’ll have to learn how to use another stupid clicker. Dumb TV.”
Why, I wondered, did she feel she had to learn to use another remote. After all, The Pearl still had not mastered the previous satellite remote we had owned for the past decade.
“Elliott, this stupid TV won’t work again!” is a fairly common utterance in our household.
Then it struck me—the reason that is, not the remote—for this phenomenon, but my conclusion required more investigation, so I retired to the Bakery first thing Monday morning.
The usual collection of wit and wisdom were seated at the debating table.
“Does anyone else here have a problem with their spouse not knowing how to run the TV remote?” I asked the assembled faces.
“TV and video input settings! Simply hasn’t a clue. I fix it at least twice a week,” snorted the Runt as he troweled a half-inch layer of peanut butter on three slices of flaxseed toast (high fibre and Omega 3 fatty acids—the Runt is on a health kick).
“But don’t quote me on that,” he cautioned, shooting hopelessly for continued domestic peace.
Moose, just back from a successful turkey hunt, along with photographic proof (but you know how he likes to use Photoshop), kept his own counsel, not wanting to stir deep waters.
Then Sheila surprised us all by stating, for a fact, that she had on occasion had to run home at lunchtime and change the channel for Jack.
So this isn’t a male/female thing after all. It’s simply why bother learning any new tricks if your spouse already knows how to do it. So when the kids leave home, one of you will have to learn how to program the remote.
As for The Pearl and I, I’ve got the TV remote covered. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out how dishes are washed the right way, or the proper method of sweeping the floor.
And the washing machine? Not even a remote possibility.

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