Anyway, the important thing is, I finally got the TV mounted to the wall without accidentally dropping it during the process. It’s not very heavy, but a person really needs the wingspan of Kevin Durant to lift it up properly. Maybe this note in the instruction manual, “Installation exclusively on two bodies, never with only person,” was trying to tell me I should’ve called my brother-in-law to come over and help me.
I thought installing the TV was difficult, but that was nothing compared to programming it. You see, it’s called a “Smart TV,” which means it’s guaranteed to make the owner feel dumb. The TV comes with all kinds of software and programs and apps, and needs to be connected to the internet via wifi. This, of course, means I had to try and locate all my various usernames and passwords; another delightful chore.
By mid-January, I finally got the TV to communicate with the cable box. So, now I can watch the 180 channels for which I’m paying every month through the nose (even though I only watch six of them).
That’s when I noticed the TV takes up practically the entire wall in our modestly-sized condo living room. I started feeling guilty for splurging on such an ostentatious consumer product. But then, luckily, I visited my brother-in-law (the one I should’ve called to help me), and he just finished installing a brand new 70” flatscreen TV (and he should’ve called me to help him).
When I returned home and gazed at that puny 55-incher, I shook my head and muttered, “It’s just too small. We need a bigger one.” I think I’ll wait until next Christmas. That will give me 11 months to think up a good excuse to tell Mrs. Elf.