The TV in our bedroom is dying, and I'm ridiculous sad about it. I mean seriously, who gets sad about a TV??? I do folks, I do.
My senior year of college, I asked my parents for a "larger" TV. With graduation coming up in the spring, I knew that I would most likely be living on my own at some point, and a 13" TV just wasn't going to cut it for me. Under the tree that year was a 19" TV, and that became my primary TV until I got married and Andrew had a larger TV. When we got married, it became our bedroom TV. Andrew even pointed out yesterday that this was the TV we were watching on our first date, and it was the TV we were watching when Barry Bonds broke the baseball record (tainted though it may be). Two years ago my mom was getting rid of some of the TVs my dad had around the house (he brought a couple home from the lake) and I mentioned that I wouldn't mind having one since I knew our bedroom TV was 18-years-old and could go at any point. We sat it in our bedroom and waited...because Andrew and I wanted to know how long our bedroom TV would last (the adage they just don't make things like they used to is so very true). The new TV has sat there, and this past Christmas morning our bedroom TV had officially served for 20 years.
This week though, it's obvious that the days are numbered and it's on its last leg. Andrew wants to go ahead and change it out...I mean the other TV is right there! I haven't let him do it though, and even now the thought makes me cry. It is something I attach to my father. It is something that is a carry over from before he was even sick. In fact, I've had this TV nearly half my life! I acknowledge this is completely ridiculous, but I have to do this on my terms. I might be ridiculous, but at least I'm realistic!
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