Tales of a new TV

Being in a wheelchair has made for some unexpected adventures in this whole, grown up thing.

Like having to buy a new TV so I stop running into the sofa.

A few years ago, a friend of Ben’s offered us a free big screen TV, and like most men addicted to the neon god, Ben practically wet himself when I agreed.

By the time we added a third dog crate for Cooper, the furniture was practically stacked on top of each other and always in my way. I’d catch the corner of the recliner, the bottom of the sofa, etc. And the lack of space meant our options for re-arranging was severely limited.

So like any sane, rational woman, I blamed the lack of space on the TV and have hated it ever since.

Every couple of months, I’d complain to Ben about the space and beg him to figure out a way to make the set up fit better; his response was always to get a new TV, because a flat screen would take up less space.  And as much as I hated the gargantuan beast we had, spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars on a new one wasn’t exactly feasible.

With buying our new van, Ben and I were really forced to take a look at our money and budget our finances better. That and the addition of my social media job, we actually had some wiggle room for a little fun. So a few weeks ago, during my regularly scheduled rant about the living room, I agreed to the new TV.

After waiting a mind-numbingly long time for the employee to finish up with the toolbag team in front of us, we ended up with getting a no-name brand on a major sale, meaning it was big enough to make Ben happy and cheap enough to keep me from crying.

And you know what? As much as I hate to admit it, Ben was right: the amount of space we have now is amazing. I haven’t hit a single piece of furniture with the wheelchair, since.

I’d tell Ben he was right . . . but he’d have to unglue his face from the new screen first.