Moving heaven and earth and a TV for the Buckeyes

Appeared Jan. 8, 2007

“Let’s move the TV,” I tell my husband.
Groan, grumble, mumble.
“I don’t want to move the TV,” he says. “I like it where it is … plus, do you know how hard it is to move that TV?”
An hour or so later, I’m hanging onto the large-screen television as he is on his hands and knees nudging its metal and glass stand out of the corner and flat against the wall.
This TV-moving is just another in the long line of bright ideas that over the years I have convinced my husband to go along with.
But because I’m never sure if he relents because he sees the wisdom of my ways or because he knows I won’t stop badgering him until he does what I want, I keep up the chatter to keep his mind off the task at hand.
“This will be good. It will make more room for people to sit,” I tell him.
“Hold onto that TV,” he says.
“We can square up the couch and there will be more room for some extra chairs,” I say.
“Are you holding onto that TV?” he says.
“We can bring down that new chair from …”
“Now, what’s this? He asks as he holds up a round metal object. This fell off of something,” he says.
We feel up and down the metal stand and find no hole matching the object in his hand.
Hmmm. That’s odd. He sets down the mystery object and I go back to securing the TV while he moves the stand underneath it.
We are setting up for tonight’s big game, the national championship game between the Ohio State Buckeyes and the Florida Gators.
I’m not sure how many are coming over to watch it but I want to be sure there will be enough room for everyone to sit.
Finally, the TV stand is flat against the wall.
“There,” I say.
“Why is the TV pitching forward like … hey, that’s what that piece is for,” he says. “It levels off the front of the stand. We have to take the TV down.”
Take the TV down?
I think if you put all the wires attached to the back of that TV end to end, they would wrap around the earth. Twice.
“Are the wires long enough to do that without coming undone?” I ask.
He bends over the back of the TV, gathers the wad of wires and shakes them gently like a person would shake a pom-pom to get all the strips straight.
“I think so. Now you grab that side while I grab this side and set the TV down in front of the stand,” he says.
We pick up the large television – which weighs about 23 ounces – and, as we set it down, I see half a dozen plugs – those yellow, red, blue, white, green plugs – hanging there, attached to nothing.
Gulp. I’m starting to get a little nervous now. My husband has been a good egg up to this point but – as with any good egg – you never know when it’s going to blow its top.
He never did, though. Even though this bright idea didn’t exactly work out. We ended up putting the TV back where it was in the first place.
I even reconnected those colored plugs while he was searching for his glasses so he could do it.
“There,” I said when he came back in the room. “All fixed.”
“So, what do you want me to do next? Move the three-piece sectional?” he asked sarcastically as he pointed to the massive sofa across the room.
Well, I wasn’t going to bring it up but since he mentioned it …