Last Wednesday, Brenda ran a cable to my TV. It made me happy.
Wait, a minute...I didn't give that bit of news the treatment that I should have. Give me a moment...
Last Wednesday, amidst black clouds and rain and a frown that nobody thought could be turned upside down, my spectacularly beautiful aunt juggled, bounced and giggled. She tumbled and sang, sweat and grunted to no avail. Finally, her eyebrows crawling toward one another and her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth, she crept from our sight. We shrugged and thought, "Just as well," before leaving my subterranean loft. Moments later, she found us perched on kitchen chairs, sniffing exaggeratedly at the wafting scent of baking pies. Momentarily crestfallen—for what could complete with the scent of baking pies?—she scuffed her feet and looked to the ground, her hands sinking glumly into her pockets. We watched as she visually collected herself, rolled her shoulders back and announced, "I ran a cable to your TV."
I ran to it right that very moment, as though the devil himself were behind me . Revered silence filled the space as I regarded the masterpiece of a connected cable. Gingerly, I ran my fingers over the buttons on the remote, stroking it in adoration. I turned it on, the TV, and strayed from the DVD input setting...and to my wonder: TV SHOWS. With color and moving people and even sound! I closed my eyes, spun around, and clicked my heels together three times crying, "There's no place like home!"
