More than two weeks ago, I lost the remote control for my television. Not a tragedy, I know, but damned inconvenient. If I wanted to go from channel 56 down to channel 2, I had to get up, go crouch in front of the t.v. and hold the channel button down until I got where I was going.
After doing that for several days, the button got less cooperative. I started having to push it over and over again, or push it from just the right angle or beg it to work. This resulted in my missing the first few minutes of some of my favorite shows. Forget about going all the way up to channel 78 just to see what was on! By the time I got to the right channel, it would have been too late.
Of course I looked for the remote. I took all the cushions off of the couch – the bottom cushions and the back rest cushions. I stuck my hands in all the cracks and crannies. I looked under the couch. I looked on the floor next to and behind the couch. I looked on the floor next to and behind the t.v. I looked on the bookshelves next to the t.v. I looked through the disarray that is my crafting table. I looked under my crafting table. I took all the cushions off the couch and felt around in cracks and crannies again.
I started to think that maybe I’d had it in my hand when I went to do something in another room. Maybe when I got there, I’d needed two hands and set it down and forgot about it. I looked in the bathroom. I looked in the refrigerator. I looked in the freezer. I looked in all the kitchen cabinets and drawers. I looked in the bedroom. I looked under the bed. I started accusing the cats of making off with it.
Every couple of days, I repeated the search, including the Great Couch Exploration. I looked over, under, behind and next to everything. I picked up every piece of paper, magazine and scrap of fabric. No remote. Finally, crouching in front of the t.v., trying to cajole the channel button into cooperating, I began to consider just buying a new one.
After two weeks of this, I started to think the fairies were messing with me. They’ve done it before. I tried to reason with them. I said, “Come on, guys, can you please give me back my remote? It’s not all that funny anymore.”
Then, the night before last, I sat down on the couch and felt something hard and lumpy beneath me. I knew immediately what it was. Yep, the remote. I searched that couch at least four times that I specifically remember. The only explanation I can come up with is that the fae were having a laugh at my expense.
