|The new sound bar, etc., etc.|
Then he mentioned it again and yet again.
He started showing me the sound bars here and there. My daughter and her husband had one. He dragged me to their house to listen so I could hear the difference.
Best Buy had some.
Even Wal-Mart had some.
Now we have one.
I quit fighting but I was envisioning a trim, little 1-inch piece that would tuck in between the TV and the TV cupboard, something inconspicuous.
We already have way more remotes than I can handle.
This makes five.
And I wouldn't even mind that so much if I could figure out and memorize the sequence of operation.
There's one to turn on the speakers.
There's one to run the volume but it can't be the one that controls volume for the TV. That needs to be competely off.
There's one to bring in the Satellite signal, another to fire up the monitor.
And there's a dusty old thing that hangs around for no reason. I just don't dare toss it out.
When the sound bar is working, I'll admit the sound is lovely and rich. I appreciate it.
But when Marc is gone and I'm left to myself to sort through the devices, I get a little frustrated.
Invariably I miss a step.
"Here, you just do this," Marc will say, pushing a button I hadn't noticed before on the newest remote.
When nothing happens, he grabs another. "Oh, I forgot you have to do this!"
Then he picks up a third. "You'll want to have this on as well or it won't come through."
He pushes and prods through the assortment until we have great, throbbing, sound on every side.
"It's really simple. You'll get it! You'll love it."
I can't wait.