In order to rationalize watching just about every game of the World Cup, I’ve been painting woodwork while I watch. Now that I’m in the bathroom, I have to move TVs around, and to do that I have had to run extension cords and, while waiting for the cable to reboot, run back and forth from the downstairs television so I don’t miss the action. My wife got pissed off about this, and I came back with, “It’s my yoga.” She said, “I don’t have both televisions blaring when I do yoga,” then slammed herself inside the living room. I need a better rap.
