We'll begin with The Boy.
Boy (coming into my bedroom where I'm working): Is your cable okay?
Me: Seems fine. Why?
Boy: Because ever since we had that power outage yesterday, my television's been skitchy.
Me: Did you reboot the box?
Boy: I'm trying to watch the hockey game and the picture keeps wobbling. I think it's the connection in the attic.
Me: We just replaced the connection in the attic a month ago, remember? So unless you've been hanging out up there, playing with the wires or the cats have grown opposable thumbs, I doubt that's the issue. Have you rebooted the box?
Boy: Great. I'll just get a headache from watching the wobbly picture.
(I leave my work and go into his room, reboot the box, which, of course, solves the problem.)
I settle down with my manuscript again and lo and behold! Hubster tells me he's still having problems accessing his voicemail on his cell--a fact I was unaware of, but apparently, I should have surmised this based on...I dunno. I got nothin'.
Hubster: One of these days, you're gonna have to fix that for me. It's frustrating to see all these calls and not know if it's important because I can't play the message.
Me (with a heavy sigh): Bring me your phone.
(He hands me the phone and I ask him what the problem is.)
Hubster: I can't access my voicemail.
Me: Why not? (I hit the voicemail button. It shows he has ten unheard messages. I choose one and it plays. No problem.)
Hubster: Hey! You fixed it.
Me: Yeah, how about that?
This is why I always worry when I travel that I will return home to find my boys huddled around the blackened remains of my house, trying to open a can of peas with a sharp rock. It could happen.
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