2007-07-13
TV in Vermont
I wake up with a sore throat. Nothing worse than catching a cold during vacation. Back in Vermont, I slump on the saggy couch, wrapped in my grandmother's afghan. I sip camomille tea from a mug that reads, "Skiiers Do It Downhill." Click on the TV and scan through channels:
French informmercials (A woman with perfect nails is chopping apples with the "Nicer Dicer," the only words I understand), a dressage competition, the Canadian Broadcasting Channel's "Name That Foal" contest, a lawyer who says I can speak to him for free about dog bites, construction accidents, Slip and Fall episodes or birth injuries.
I click to another channel. A boy tells a lunch lady, "I need you to read my beans." She glops something in his bowl, peers into it like a psychic and says, "You will meet your true love at the dance."
On the next channel, a man dressed like the Unibomber dances with a lispy Girl Scout. "There's no discos in the forest," he says. They spread out on the floor and scribble in a coloring book.
An Army Navy store is having a "Back to School" sale.
I flip to a dating show. A surfer tells a chick in a bikini, "You're an amazing hula-hooper. And I enjoyed getting to know you while eating crab legs."
I fall asleep to static. The best thing on TV? The paperback I finished last night.
f-i-n at 3:09 p.m.