I Hate DVRs

I take back everything I said about DVRs. I hate them.

I'm happily watching a show, tralala, something totally uninteresting (you'd think!) to the masculine, like Dr. Phil or something, and Michael comes into the bedroom and sits down. And suddenly, he's interested. Brightest thing in the room, and he's instantly entranced.

But, of course, he has to get up and do something. Pee. Get a snack. Chop down a tree. Build a fire. Fix the garbage disposal. Whatever.

"Pause it!"

Okayyyyyyy.

Twenty minutes later, he comes back. I'm sitting there twiddling my thumbs, waiting, watching Dr. Phil's face frozen like he's got a tick in one eye. I know I'm developing a tick in one eye.

He sits down. "Okay, go ahead." I juuuuuuuuust get involved again, and "Oh, wait, I forgot to get a diet Coke."

ARGH!

I hate DVRs. The word "pause" should be struck from the dictionary!