There is probably not a one of us that hasn’t lost control or felt like they were about to at some point in their lives.
Live long enough and someone will come along and make it their sole purpose in life to rattle your chain and cause no end of misery to your otherwise pristine existence.
We all teeter on the edge sometimes and knowing that line is a big part of being successful in business, relationships and goes a long ways toward staying out of jail. I never experienced the latter but sure have the others in some form or another.
Having successfully traversed the many pitfalls of a 30 year marriage, I thought I had become an expert on keeping control in every situation but lo and behold, I have recently found an area that certain regression seems to be occurring.
When a man is married he somehow owns the rights to the TV remote control. I have never been in anyone’s house that I can recall where this was not the case. It’s always right there by the Alpha male’s chair which is also a sacred throne of sorts regardless of the stains or popcorn down in the cushions.
And people in that household know not to try and take over that spot for very long. Doing so means you get “The Look” and chores to do if you are one of the smaller members of the tribe.
I had accomplished the “control control” and even the divorce didn’t change that situation as I still had a television and a remote and no one but Cooper to entertain. He doesn’t really mind what I watch but enjoys The Animal Network once in a while and I do indulge him that small favor.
Soon I tired of the bachelor existence and dated some nice ladies and of course, let them pick and choose what we watched to get those extra brownie points us men always need. This was all well and good as none of them stayed around long enough for me to really be damaged by their Hollywood tunings until Trixie came on the scene.
She has been around the castle off and on for some time now and it appears she is not about to relinquish control of that remote anytime soon. Poor Ol’ Dutch is relegated to watching night after night of such programs as Dancing With The Stars, The Voice, Glee and any other women’s type shows she can find.
Last night she left the room to take a shower and get ready for bed and Ol’ Dutch quickly learned that not only does she have a mind like a steel trap and can recall every single misstep I have made, but she can view the television remotely while in the bathtub.
Now it has been suggested that I simply marry Trixie thereby regaining control over the remote again as the official leader of the pack and main He Wolf of the den. And on the surface that does have some merit and not a few men have fallen for that ploy expertly applied by some conniving woman.
But Ol’ Dutch wasn’t born yesterday, as Trixie so often likes to remind me, and I decided a second television is in order. Hello Walmart! Goodbye America’s Got Talent! The bull goose has his control back and, now, all is right with the world once again.