lucky in love
By Louise Sukle
Editor & Publisher
I’m a great believer in luck.
For me, it’s my husband Joe. I met him - by pure coincidence - when he showed up at a friend’s party not long after I graduated from high school.
Forty-two years later, we’re still happily together. “It was all meant to be,” I’ve been told. The way I figure it, I’m just really, really lucky.
Though not one to toot my own horn, I feel the need to occasionally remind my husband that he’s lucky, too. I can hammer my own nails; I can throw together a meal like it’s my job; and just last week when I used a coupon at the shoe store, I reminded him how truly lucky he is that I love a bargain.
I fall short, however, when it comes to my luck with television electronics. I’m thoroughly hopeless with remote controls. In fact, I entertain my family with my ineptitude. There, I said it.
My husband has explained it to me a hundred times, but every TV in our house has its own set of buttoned devices that must be orchestrated in just the right sequence and in accordance to reasoning I will never grasp. I am permitted to change channels with the remote with the rainbow buttons, and use it again for the volume, and the little one only for Netflx, but remember, for the love of God, don’t press any of the buttons on the big silver one. LEAVE THAT ONE ALONE.
Fortunately, the last time I was home alone and could’t get sound on the TV, I took a picture of the remote and sent it to my tolerant/sympathetic (forgiving) husband. Using the picture I texted, he was able to talk me through it with some educated guesses until we successfully reset the TV.
It might have tested his patience on that one, but no doubt he’s a better person for it. Gee, he’s so lucky to have me.