It's Not You, It's Your Beard Stubble

For whatever reason, the box-a-mah-jigger that has a blue glow to it that sits inside of my living room end table makes the internet work in all places inside and outside of my home except for my bedroom.

It's like it knows when I am at the most intense part of an X-Files episode (and, sure, I've seen them all about a million times, but still...) and then it decides to give me the ol' 25% rigamarole.

I tried to find a picture of it, but there were just a bunch of graphs and charts and stuff so I'll add an equally frustrating picture of something else. Hold on, I have to search something...

Ok, found one.

Beard Stubble on/in the sink.

Yeah, sure, I leave my earrings all over. And my makeup. And I don't put the toilet paper on right. And I never put the toothpaste cap back on. But, this isn't about me. It's about beard stubble. 

No, wait.

THIS IS ABOUT NETFLIX AND THE BLUE GLOWING DOOHICKEY IN THE LIVING ROOM!

Anyway, so the box of blue fire sends signals to EVERYTHING ELSE in the whole damn house, except to my TV in my bedroom right when the plot thickens on X-Files. It's like it doesn't want me to know the TRUTH.

 So. Bad.

So, I try turning the blue thingy off. Then, back on. Then I go back to my room and pull my TV out of the wall with full force brute strength, throw it through the window onto the back lawn, and smash it with a sledgehammer like forty-seven times. 

And, it's super weird because every time I do this my husband has to drive to the store, buy a new television, and it's like he tries on purpose to avoid me after that. Like I'm some sort of monster? 

HE'S the one leaving hair all over the place!! 

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