Mom’s SnapperPosted: May 19, 2015
“Patty,” Mom called out from the living room. “My snapper stopped working!”
Bill hit the pause button to stop the season finale of The Americans we’d recorded and looked across the couch at me, eyes wide and eyebrows arched.
“Snapper?” Bill whispered, trepidation clearly showing in his face. “I don’t think I want to know what she’s talking about.”
“Well, whatever it is,” I commented drily as I stood up, “it isn’t what you’re thinking it is.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” he retorted with a crooked grin.
“Seriously?” I laughed over my shoulder as I left the Arizona Room. “After almost 28 years you really need to ask?”
I walked resolutely into the living room, prepared to ‘fix Mom’s snapper,’ whatever it might turn out to be. She was reclined at a leisurely angle in the Lazy Boy she’d commandeered from Bill a couple of years ago.
“Okay, Mom, what’s the problem? What isn’t working now?” I asked.
“The snapper stopped working when I moved from over there,” she said, pointing toward the loveseat, “to the lay-down chair. I think it’s the way it’s bent.”
“The way what’s bent? The chair?” I asked, somewhat baffled.
“No, the snapper. It can’t reach the TV anymore,” she explained.
“The snapper’s bent?” I asked, feeling even more perplexed.
“No, no, not the snapper, I mean the TV set,” she said.
“The television’s bent?” I asked, totally confused.
“No, no, no. It’s the angle,” she exclaimed, waving the TV remote at me. “It can’t reach from over here to over there because of the bend.”
“The remote,” I declared with more than a hint of relief in my voice. “You mean the remote control. The snapper’s the remote,”
“That’s what I said, the TV snapper. It stopped working.”
To demonstrate, she pointed the device toward the television and began pushing buttons. “See, it doesn’t do anything. I think it’s broken.”
“Or,” I replied, gently taking it from her, turning it around and giving it back, “you’re pointing it backwards.”