Remotely Bratting

I knew it was coming. I saw it a mile away, and I made absolutely no provisions to prevent it from happening. It was simply part of our lives. I repeated the same infraction over and over again, and he'd grumble. In my defense, He never actually came right out and told me I had to stop it. He held it in and suffered in silence hoping against hope that I would see how much it drove him crazy. The signals were all there, plain as day, and I felt a twinge of guilt every time I repeated the offense. But... what am I, a mind reader?

We have three televisions. One in the living room, one in the den, and one in the bedroom. Each have their own cable box, and each cable box has it's own remote. All three remotes look exactly alike except for the little marker that BabyMan placed on each to indicate which TV they belong to.

Here's where I have been systematically driving my husband insane. I hate locating them when I need them. For instance when I come to bed, BabyMan's already got the TV on and is snoring away. I can't turn on the light and disturb my sleeping husband to begin searching for the remote, so I do the sensible and thoughtful thing. I go to the living room and take the remote from there and use it to change the channel in the bedroom. I don't think about it again until BabyMan comes home from work the next day and heads for the living room TV for a little R&R. Of course the living room remote is nowhere to be found. I never put it back for the same reason I stole it from the living room in the first place. I'm lazy. And I just didn't think about it.

Often in the evenings while I'm cooking dinner, he starts to methodically search the living room. picking up sofa cushions, looking under the love seat, eyeballing the kitchen counter, checking the window sill. It'll take me a moment to realize what he's doing and I'll drop everything and run into the bedroom. And there on my side of the bed on the floor is a remote... which one, I'm not sure.  I'll grab it and run back to the living room and hand it to him with a bit of a sheepish smile. He'll grumble and glare at me while I meekly go back to my cooking.

"It's the wrong one," he'll suddenly say

"What?"

"It's the wrong remote."

"What difference does it make? It controls the cable box."

"It doesn't turn the TV on or control the volume."

I'll slam down the knife I'm cutting tomatoes with, stomp over to the TV and turn it on manually. "How difficult is that?"

"I'm not going to get up every time I have to change the volume"

"You're spoiled! Are you familiar with the term Ugly American?"

"FIND THE RIGHT REMOTE!"

I'll turn on my heel and stomp into the bedroom and search violently for the one that belongs in the living room. It usually takes me a while to find it in under the covers of my made bed or maybe on top of the TV or sometimes even in the top drawer of my dresser.

We've played this particular scene a hundred thousand times in the last 7 years or so. We know the steps and our lines by heart, and there's even something a bit comforting in the mundane routine of it all...at least for me. For BabyMan there's just that vein that pops out on his neck a little further every time we run through this act.

Some people would say that my total disregard for his desire to have the correct remote on hand without an argument is a clear case of bratting. I don't think it's bratting. I think I'm just... lazy. don't get me wrong, there are things in life for which I am more than willing to go out of my way, go the extra mile, push my energy to the limit... but matching the remotes with the right TV is not one of them.

So Tuesday evening, I get on my laptop in the living room for my usual chat room appointment with the girls. Only Kady and Alex are there waiting for the rest to arrive, we said our hellos and joked around a bit. Then, from the bowels of our unit I hear a bellowing "SUGARANNE!"

I didn't like the sound of that. I called back sweetly, "Yeah, Baby?"

"COME HERE! NOW!"

Now he knows Tuesday night is an important chat night for me, and for him to drag me away...

I typed:  Uh oh. BRB.

before I got the laptop off my lap, I caught a glimps of Alex typing:  That doesn't sound so good.

I got off the couch and walked into the den. There BabyMan stood with the paddle in his hand. "Where is it?" he demanded.

"Where's what, Baby?" I asked as I kept my eye on the paddle .

"The remote for the den. Where is it?"

"I... don't know."

"FIND IT. NOW!"

He had clearly reached his limit. He wasn't angry, he was just determined to put a stop to this today. I backed out of the room and ran into the bedroom. I rolled around on the bed hoping to find it under the covers as I so often do. Not there. I looked on the floor, under the bed, on the dressers, in the master bathroom, in the hamper... it was nowhere. I went back to the den. "Baby, I don't see it."

"FIND IT!"

I wanted to get back to my friends, but this wouldn't be a wise time to argue. What did I do with it? YES! The living room! I ran back to the living room and began searching through the usual places. The coffee table, the cushions, the kitchen island counter... FOUND IT! I ran back to the den and carefully presented it to him as though it were the keys to the kingdom. When I turned to leave (did I really think I could leave?) I heard him say "Just a minute, come back here."

I turned back and looked at him like a puppy that just peed on the carpet.

"Drop your pants and bend over the arm of the couch."    

Like I said, I knew it was coming. Over the past several years I had watched his frustration grow and I did nothing to stop it. I didn't argue. I couldn't. I did look at him pleadingly for a moment until I realized he would not be dissuaded. I pulled down my shorts and bent over until my hands were on the couch cushion.

"The bedroom remote..." WHAP! "stays in the bedroom!" Whap! "The Living room remote..." Whap! "stays in the living room!" WHAP "And the den remote..." WHAP "stays where?"

"In the den!" I squealed out.

He placed the paddle on the arm of the couch and said "Put that where it belongs."

I picked up the paddle and placed it on the wall in the bedroom and headed back to my laptop.  The girls had probably suspected what happened, it wasn't the first time I had been dragged away from chat to be spanked.  I immediately confessed what happened and they LOLed and teased me until I was laughing.

I actually had done pretty well for the last week as far as keeping the remotes where they belong.  If I grab one from another room, I'm careful to replace it as soon as possible.  But oddly enough, while I've been sitting her writing this post I heard an all too familiar bellow from the livingroom.

"SUGARANNE... WHERE"S THE REMOTE?"