The only time I ever get to be in charge of the television is when I am the only one home, which isn't that damn often. Our household boasts two -- one in the living room and one in our bedroom. The penis-bearing members of our family run a total racket on our entertainment.
After Rowdy came in last night, I stole the opportunity to fold some laundry, which was wildly overdue by the way, and watch a little tv in the back home. As I dragged one laundry basket into the bedroom, I was excited when I realized one of my favorite movies of all time, Prime, was one. If you've never seen it, it's a must.
Anyways, I've seen this flick enough times to know what happens next and I was right at the end, the heart-wrenchingly painful end when the channel suddenly changed.
What the hell, right?
Yeah, from the living room, Rowdy had started recording a 40-year-old western in the back room, TV 2 according to the DVR.
By the time I switched it, the movie was over and missed Dave pressing his face against the window to steal a peak of Raffi. It's so real, I feel it in my heart each time.
I stormed up front and gave Rowdy a good tongue-lashing. His response, of course, was that I had seen it before and, thanks to me, he was going to have an missing spot in his western. He then proceeded to tell our 3-year-old that Momma didn't want him to get to see his movie. Ridge cried. I cusses. Rowdy got to watch his dumb show. Asshole.