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Our old flat screen tv died at approximately 1 pm on Super Bowl Sunday.  Seriously, just a few hours before we were hosting our annual party for our friends.  The ribs were baking, the sauces were simmering and there was this black bar of emptiness slowly marching up the screen.

So, my husband ran out and bought a new tv.  He’d been looking at a new tv for a while and the one he wanted was on sale.  It’s nice to have a new tv.  I’m happy we got it in time for our party.  But moving the old tv was astonishingly hard.  I helped my husband move it into the house after we bought it.  We moved it 3 more times since.  This time though, I wasn’t up to the task.  It’s really heavy, my husband estimates 200 pounds but that must be an exaggeration.  Let’s use that though because it makes me feel less bad about not being able to carry it up the stairs and out of the way.  We had the oldest’s weightlifting-obsessed boyfriend help my husband with it.

My husband put the tv out on the treelawn (using a hand cart) last night.  Possibly usable things don’t last long in my neighborhood.  Within 20 minutes, there was someone out looking at it.  An hour after that, my oldest told me there were 2 guys attempting to pick it up.  My oldest and youngest stood in our foyer with the lights out watching and laughing at the failed attempt to garbage pick our old tv. 

Apparently, no one else was up to the task of moving that beast.  It was still there this morning. 




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