We bought a new TV the other day. Our old one is still soldiering on but every now and again it’ll turn on to double images, or just decide to do that mid-watch.
It’s not the sort of TV you can leave for your old, half-blind mother to watch while she visits our house is what I’m saying.
And that, my friends is a great excuse to get new stuff.
When we were browsing for candidates, we were approached – obviously – by a shop person. I hate shop people asking if I want help. If I want help (I don’t), I’ll ask (I won’t). But Carole loves it. So despite me saying we seriously don’t need help (which is what I said, word for word) we got help.
All I wanted to do was look at how many inputs things had, and how ugly their stands were. But instead the hard sell kicked in and there were definite insistence put on ordering it because it was out of stock and more were coming, but hundreds of people wanted one.
I wanted one. I knew that before I was talked to, but I wanted to browse a bit – at my own pace – and find the aesthically pleasing one. You know what I mean.
We ordered one online – from the same company that day – and it arrived two days later.
Here’s the thing – in store the TVs look smaller, because they’re out of context and next to ones of the same size. When it’s in a box in your front room you begin to wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake.
You set it up, you still begin to wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. Look how big it is. The people are nearly lifesize. It’s huge. Oh god. What have we done. Not we, I. What have I done. I was given carte blanche. I have screwed up.
You go to sleep that day, wake up the following morning. You still think the TV is on the large size.
You watch it in the evening.
Did we even go big enough?