I stayed at my dad's last night. I've never seen so many
remote controls in my life.
I’d expect the
average front room to contain a few, but not as many as six. That’s one for every day of
the week except the Sabbath; the only instance when this wouldn’t be regarded as a day of rest.
Six in one room
is pure decadence. Particularly in such a small space: in most cases,
it’s probably easier to reach for the switch on the appliance than it is to go for the remote. Nothing
can be that remote in a 12’ x 9’ room.
Perhaps they're my dad’s personal weakness; like Imelda Marcos with shoes. Or he might have not got around to throwing some old ones out. Maybe one makes
the walls spin around to reveal a games room, or a secret lair.
I've always suspected my dad was an evil genius.