Remote Control Armageddon
Otherwise considerate gentlemen become demanding, pouting bullies once they get hold of one simple electronic device. They then growl at their mates for asking if they will change the channel or, heaven forbid, give them a turn with the remote.
I’ve talked to all of my women friends and they all go through the same battle of the sexes in this one area..
It wouldn’t be so bad if these men had good personal taste in what programs they choose to switch to, but it’s always something only THEY want to watch.
My husband, for example, likes watching National Geographic and Discovery Channel, particularly their nature shows.
“How many times can you look at another hour of lions chasing down wildebeests?” I’ve inquired a number of times. “It’s always the same. The lions stalk them, run them down and then it shows totally gross scenes of them eating raw flesh.
There is no entertainment value whatsoever in that, hon!”
Generally, he ignores any protest I make.
Hubby also likes action movies and so I am treated to repeated viewings of “Commando” or “Navy SEALS” or “Rambo” or scores of other such mind-numbing flicks starring Sly Stallone or the present governor of California, shown on the Encore Action Channel. No plot, just an excuse for macho characters to fire off a bunch of semi-automatic weapons and mow down hundreds of villains per scene.
Worst of all is my dear one’s preoccupation with Clint Eastwood films. If one of them is on, I have a snowball’s chance in you-know-where of getting charge of the remote.
Again, I fail to see the fascination.
One Eastwood film is just like the ones before it. When he plays the cowboy, even though he has a different name in each movie, he still wears the same ratty poncho, scuzzy hat, chews on the same skinny cigars and squints as though he flunked an eye exam.
“These are classics!” hubby says, with the enthusiasm of a little boy.
When I think of classic movies, I think of Bette Davis, Clark Gable, Gary Cooper, Joan Crawford, et al. None of what he watches is anything close to this caliber.
If there is anything good about going through this menopause thing, however, it’s that it can be good leverage for finally getting the remote out of the hands of an uncooperative spouse.
“If I do not get that remote right this second,” I say, with a slightly crazed expression, “I am going to get very, very upset. And you know how that can be!”
Having experienced sessions with my hormonal rages, he is quick to do all he can to avoid another one and I am reluctantly handed over the spoils of war, which I accept triumphantly.
