It’s been 24 hours since my television bit the dust. I’m still breathing. I didn’t even die after missing all my reruns of “ Cheers” and the Saints.
My friend Larry said he could come over and hook up my other receiver in my sitting room, but I’m thinking I should let my addiction to television just die.
I’m thinking of my grandmother. What would she be doing on a Saturday afternoon after she closed the store and came home.
She wouldn’t be watching television because there wasn’t one. She would be out back feeding the chickens or watering her flowers. Then she would come in and fix dinner for my grandfather.
He would be sitting in the dining room listening to the Grand Ole Opry on the radio. And I hope she thumped him on the head and went to bed.