Today is a day; one day closer to my Warrior Queen’s birth…hopefully trending on the early side like Little Man’s. It is preposterous to doubt that I will start insulin next week, but I have this week to watch things; one week less of injections. Mercifully, our insurance will cover a spring activated syringe, rather than the classic needle and vial. I can’t say if I’m okay or not at the moment, but I will be…eventually.
But, now is the time for funny thoughts, so I will think to last night. My husband is brilliant at many things, but I especially appreciate his ability to program our television. Verizon provides us with thousands of channels, most of them crumby, but I couldn’t tell you what they are because my husband programmed our television to house only the channels potentially worth watching. Furthermore, there is an additional favorites program for my son, not that I use it, but it’s there nonetheless, and the sheer magnificence of such a feat existing is enough for me.
Last night my husband decided to refresh his memory on the selection he saved for Mr. Man, and he was not terribly appreciative that the Playboy channel seemed to be permanently affixed to my son’s personalized catalogue of channels. Initially, both of us found this hysterical, and I attributed it to the tendency for my son to select the, fortunately blocked, channel every time he managed to take hold of the remote. All humor aside, however, there is something vaguely disquieting about the title, Destroy her Cooter, appearing just under Curious George; I don’t care how creepy his relationship is with the Man with the Yellow Hat.
With steadfast tenacity, my husband erased the channel only to have it reappear with a couple other choice porn channels as soon as he exited and reentered the favorites menu. I, of course, found this increasingly hilarious, and appreciated titles such as, Tits Ahoy!, should my son choose to apply to a maritime academy at some point. My husband, however, found this situation increasingly distressing, probably more because of the task itself than Verizon’s proactive efforts to nurture my toddler’s coming of age.
My husband finally gave up with the small success of eliminating all but Playboy. I imagine Hugh swells with pride at his channel’s ability to maintain vitality despite bombarding opposition.