The problem of the television has been solved.
Mike killed the tv.
He's probably going to be upset about this post, because I'm going to write about his weird electrical mojo. He won't admit to having it, and denies that it even exists - and honestly, who can blame him? The whole idea sounds downright bizarre and hocus-pocus. But things keep happening and it's getting a little creepy...and annoying. I cannot tell you how tired I am of buying replacement appliances.
When we first met, Mike joked about how every horn on every car he ever owned stopped working. And since then, in our (almost) nine years of marriage, we have had 3 coffeemakers, quite a few answering machines and cordless phones, and I don't know how many clock radios.
He somehow ruins all of his bank cards, making paying for purchases frustrating for all involved. He swipes his card over and over in the little card reading device, to no avail. He hands the card to the checkout girl, who swipes and swipes and then swipes again, covering the card with a grocery bag. Still nothing. I quietly stand there, smirking at him until he asks me sheepishly, "Do you have your card?" I pull out my card, swipe it through the machine - once - and it works just fine.
Now, he doesn't abuse his card in anyway. It's tucked away in his wallet, which is then carried all day in his back pocket. Like any normal man, right? But I married a man with a superpower. Unfortunately, it seems to be a demagnetizing ass.
So, now the 3 year old, not-an-off-brand, television is the newest addition to the small appliance graveyard. Mike touched it and *bloop*! Dead.