I went to bed early last night. Very early, as in 8:30, but I had a good reason: UPS brought Books 3 and 4 of Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files series and I couldn’t wait to start reading.

A funny thing happens in our house when I go to bed early: my son, who ordinarily protests against bedtime, decides it’s all right for him to go to bed, too. I assume he feels a bit less lonely when I’m up in my room since, otherwise, he’s up there on the top floor of the house and we’re all the way down in the basement watching TV. That’s an awfully long ways to holler when he wants another drink of water.

Having realized a while back that he’ll go to bed without complaint if I do, too, I’ve since adopted an earlier bedtime for myself. It gives me a chance to read without VH complaining about the light. On most nights — when I don’t have book keeping me awake — it lets me get a few hours of sleep not interrupted by VH’s snoring.

VH is usually fine with it, too: he gets to watch whatever he wants on TV, which usually means a movie with car chases, big explosions, guns and gratuitous boobage. You know, “guy flicks”. Man movies. The kind of stuff I usually sigh and bitch about loudly enough that he doesn’t bother watching them when I’m awake.

Last night, however, I’d nodded off by 10 o’clock. So had the Big-Eyed Boy. I was pretty happy about that fact: our homeschool days go better when we’ve gone to bed early enough the night before to start at a decent hour. So I happily set my alarm clock for 6:30 a.m. in the hope of getting some chores and work done this morning.

I hadn’t counted on the scream.

It happened around 11:15 p.m. One loud, blood-curdling scream that shook the house, unmistakably VH’s voice and yet in a register and pitch I’d never heard from him before. I raced downstairs, only vaguely aware that the Big-Eyed Boy was running right behind me. “Stay back!” I told him, determined to spare the Boy the traumatic experience of seeing his father traumatically injured — which is what I’d assumed happened, given the anguish that had unmistakably been in my spouse’s voice.

I landed on the bottom stair and found VH on the sofa sitting with a shocked, stunned look on his face. He wasn’t moving. His face was frozen in a terrified rictus, eyes glazed over, a small fleck of spittle at the corner of his mouth. His hand, which still held the TV remote, was shaking. My first thought: he’s had a stroke!

“Are you all right?” I asked. Right behind me, the Big-Eyed Boy asked the same thing.

“Cable went out,” my husband replied, his voice thick with disbelief. “There was 20 minutes left in my movie, and the damn thing went out!”

“Cable? You screamed about the cable??? I nearly had a heart attack worried that you’d had one!”

My heartbeat resumed its normal, much slower pace as I calmed the Big-Eyed Boy down and explained that Daddy had just been surprised when the TV stopped working. Throughout it all, my husband didn’t move. Well, most of him didn’t — his thumb continued to work furiously on the remote control in a vain attempt to get the cable working again. While he was so occupied, I poured us both a quick drink and set his on the table in front of him, right next to the pile of satellite TV offers I’ve been accumulating and hoping he’d actually browse through.

As you Venomites know, I’ve been working on VH for nearly a year to get rid of our cable service. See, this very kind of thing has happened to me too many times before, along with annoying and unexplained interruptions of our internet service, too. Besides, it seems like every other month the cost of the service is going up, and it’s now reached the point where it’s our second largest “utility” expense after the electric bill (which remains shockingly high thanks to the 100+ temperatures that keep our air-conditioner running).

I’ve shown VH your comments praising the cost-effectiveness of satellite TV combined with DSL internet access. I’ve pointed out all of the satellite TV specials going on in our area — no doubt to win over other cable customers just as pissed as us. I’ve even (albeit quite reluctantly) pointed out how much more football he could watch throughout the season since one of the satellite TV promotions includes the NFL network — something cable doesn’t offer around here.

Until last night he was dead-set against switching. Old dog, new tricks — you know how it goes. Now? Well, this morning I saw a Post-It stuck to his cell phone with the number for one of the satellite TV companies in the area. He’d grabbed their flyer, too, so I’ve little doubt he’ll make the call.

Such is the wrath of a 46-year-old man who spent 2 hours secretly watching “Dreamgirls” but didn’t get to find out how it ends.

Thursday, August 16th, 2007, 9:26 am   |   Blog bites  |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed.