“When did we stop caring how we looked in public?” I asked my sister as we trudged into Best Buy at 8:15 p.m.
“I think I look fine,” she answered.
But the truth is, we were both wearing our sleep clothes because we had gotten comfortable for the night before she started trying to hook up my DVD/VCR player. When she found I didn’t have the right cords, there was a grim silence and then an agreement that we had to make a late-night run to Best Buy as she was leaving town the next day and this was the one thing I wanted her to do for my birthday.
OK, 8:15 p.m. is not considered late night by most folks. But when you’ve been hauling furniture up and down stairs for five days in order to set up shop in a new location, 8:15 p.m. feels pretty darned late.
Some $20 later, we tested the DVD player only to be greeted by a terrible buzzing noise, no normal audio, and an episode of “The Closer” in black and white.
And this was after we’d taken drill, chisel and hammer to the back of my antique ice chest to widen the hole to get all the cords through.
Then Therese did the most amazing thing — she read the manual. Having armed herself with knowledge, she punched a few buttons on the correct remote (we’d been using one for a defunct TV) and suddenly Brenda Lee Johnson was in beautiful living color and we could hear every word she was saying.
Another miracle of technology had happened in my Luddite house.
And because I am a Luddite, Therese folded down the corner of the instructions so I would know what to read in my hour of need. (There will be many hours of need.) I discarded the old remote, which had not helped us at all, and then we decided not to play a DVD after all.
That’s why I’ve cracked open a Diet Coke even though it’s after 10 p.m. If shopping in my PJs and carving up one of my antiques doesn’t merit a late-night Diet Coke, I don’t know what does.