Tellymeals.
The paramour and I go for Sunday lunch. Naturally we return with a 32 inch flat screen television.
We are slowly but surely turning into a pastiche of footballers' wives. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
I think I'll change into jammies and watch a DVD on our new monster screen.
We are slowly but surely turning into a pastiche of footballers' wives. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
I think I'll change into jammies and watch a DVD on our new monster screen.
posted by fatmammycat at 5:00 p.m.
6 Comments:
It could double as a dinner table...
Or an extra bed should we need it.
Thirty-two inches is so twentieth century, dahling. Fifty is the new thirty-two.
Consumers today want 'em big. You might as well pop it back in it's tiny box and return it to the shop, lest you be ridiculed by the TV geeks.
Fifty? Sweet Chulutha, you'd have to have a room like in 'cribs'. Oh the chavy shame of it.
Gotcha beat, spouse brought home a 42-inch flat screen for the basement playroom. We are TRULY moved into the new house now... And yet, still not completely out of the old apartment, since the TV sports schedule only allows for one clean-out trip per day. Damn, THAT Could have waited another week!
Yikes! Do you have easyboy recliners too? I would actually like a recliner in brown leather. Hummmm...
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