I have a new flat-screen, high-definition television. It is extremely large, amazingly flat, and dazzlingly high definition. The hubby and I bought it for each other as our Christmas gift this year. We have not exchanged gifts, per se, in several years, instead purchasing something for the house that we might otherwise have delayed purchasing for some time, or at all. Our previous TV, some 15 years old, was still working just fine, and had there not been this whole new technology going on, we would have stuck with it until it died. But flat-screen HDTV is the biggest change since TVs went from black and white to colour (which, my lovies, it actually did in my lifetime) and it seemed gratuitously Luddite of us to avoid enjoyment of what the 21st century has to offer in the home entertainment area, just on general principles.
So Grammar is, in fact, rather over the moon about her newfangled telly. Being who she is, the age she is, or whatever, there’s a smidge of guilt to be so giddy with delight over a completely unnecessary luxury. This joy is not to be compared with, for example, that of war’s end, the birth of a child, successful surgery, or even a gas station finally appearing on the highway when you’ve had to pee for the past four hours. But on the scale of glee Grammar has experienced in her lifetime over completely unnecessary luxury items, this new TV is right up there at the top.
Okay, well, after any cruise. Duh.