The Garden of the Blind

I don’t watch as much TV these days as I used to (you know, before I got married). When I do watch, the TV tends to get a somewhat higher IRQ than it used to. Translation: I’m actually watching it sometimes, instead of just having it on providing background stimulus until something interesting happens.

My point is that all parts of the broadcasts have been getting more of my attention, and that includes the promotional segments that entertain us during the time we spend recovering from the last climax during the show we tuned in to. Lately, I’ve been learning that I don’t love my wife. Or at least I haven’t given her any reason to love me.

The reason for this is that I’ve not been buying her quality, inexpensive jewelry. Clearly I deserve to be snubbed at parties by her and anyone who talks with her. I certainly should not show my pathetic face in public, as long as her face is not overshadowed by sparkly rocks.

Curiously, the television has not been telling me to buy flowers. My wife is the only one doing that. I don’t think I can trust her to tell me what she wants. She’s just one person, but the TV shows me messages prepared by whole agencies, and then carefully selected and approved by marketers and network executives. Surely they know what’s best for me.

The only thing to cast any doubt is that sometimes the radio tells me to buy teddy bears. Joke’s on them! My wife isn’t a toddler anymore. (Ha ha. Teddy bears. Tee hee.)