By Mike Pound
I spent about 30 minutes Sunday night trying to find a beep in our basement.
Actually, I spent about 30 minutes trying to find the source of the beep. I’m not sure it’s possible to actually find a beep since a beep — if I remember my high school science correctly — is a sound and not a thing.
My wife was the person who first noticed the beep in our basement.
“Hey moron, there is a beep in our basement,” is how my wife told me about it.
Early in my marriage, I used to think that when my wife said something like “there is a beep in our basement,” she was just making conversation.
But I know now that when my wife says “there is a beep in our basement,” what she really means is: “Stop watching the stupid Pro Bowl, get off your Limbaugh and go find out where that beep is coming from.”
Sometimes with my wife, you need to read between the lines.
I have to admit that my wife was doing me a favor. The Pro Bowl is to actual football what reality TV is to actual reality. Last year, things at the Pro Bowl got so bad that the morons in charge of the NFL threatened to pull the plug on the game if the play didn’t improve this year.
The problem is the NFL players in the Pro Bowl are reluctant to actually play for fear of getting hurt. And when you factor in the fact that the game is played in Hawaii, things tend to be a bit laid back.
Last year, the score of the Pro Bowl game was — I think — 287 to 276. The closest either team came to playing defense was when a defender would stop the guy with the ball and ask him for an autograph.
Things were better this year. At least this year, nobody took one of those drinks with little plastic umbrellas directly onto the field.
My wife told me that the beep was coming from somewhere in “the playroom” in our basement, so that’s where I went.
A few words about the playroom: It’s not so much a playroom anymore. It was when Emma was younger, but now Emma is too old for a playroom, so it is a room where we store junk that won’t fit upstairs. A junk room, if you will.
The first thing I did when I got down to the junk room was look for a smoke detector because normally when something beeps in our house, it’s a smoke detector with a dying battery.
“I already looked for a smoke detector, if that’s what you’re doing, and there isn’t one down there,” my wife yelled from upstairs.
So much for the easy solution.
I stood in the middle of the junk room and listened. About five seconds later, I heard a beep.
“Oh, it’s over here,” I said and moved to the left wall where the beep was coming from and listened again. About five seconds later, I heard another beep.
“Oh, it’s over here,” I said and moved to the right wall where the beep was coming from. About five seconds later, I heard another beep.
“WHERE ARE YOU?” I shouted.
“TOLD YOU!” my wife yelled from upstairs.
I wandered around the junk room for about 30 minutes listening to the beep. Every time I heard the beep, I was certain I had located its source, only to hear it again and realize it was located somewhere else.
If you think I gave up trying to find the beep after 30 minutes, then you don’t know me very well.
I gave up after 29 minutes.
When I got back upstairs, the Pro Bowl was still on, so I sat back down.
“So you’re just going to sit there and watch that stupid game?” my wife asked.
I don’t think she was really asking me a question.
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