It's always a bummer when we both climb into bed then he reaches for the remote.
"Oh, hey. As a head's up, I gotta sleep with the TV on."
That's a nose-crinkler for me. Grrrrreat. "Whatever," I mumble. I mean, what am I gonna do? Argue with the guy? Technically, I'm a guest in his house. In the interest of being a good sport, I'll agree to give this TV thing a whirl.
However, I will come to regret that decision. As he's chasing Zs in deep sleep, without fail, I'll wake up in the middle of the night with the drone of informercials zipping between my ears. No, I don't want to hear about the benefits of Oxy-Clean right now. What the fuck time is it? Ugh. I'll hover in and out of consciousness until the TV is just too much for me to take.
Now, it has become my mission in life to turn this TV off. But, where the hell are the remotes? Oh, here's one. Wait, is it for the cable box or the television? I think I just turned the DVD player on. Fuuuuuuuck. I'm basically in my own personal version of The Hurt Locker.
All I wanted was to stay over and snuggle this cute dude but now I'm rummaging through his nightstand flicking various electronics on and off like an irritated zombie at Best Buy. Grrrrr x a million.