Lightning Stole My Project Runway All Stars

Our entertainment... up in flames.

Thunder claps last night that sounded like boulders rolling onto our house: 3

People sleeping in our king-sized bed after said thunderclaps: 4

Awesome TVs that died after being struck through the cable box: 1

Good news! Lightning will never strike our TV again, because it never strikes the same thing twice, right?

We thought we had outfoxed lightning; we had a surge protector. But lightning came right into our house through our cable box (not surge protected) and fried the essential, dare I say it, heart of our beloved TV.

So, we’re onto our second major appliance that went on to the big Appliance Heaven in the sky within the last five months. Naturally, I’m waiting for the third shoe to drop (I love mixing metaphors), because, as everyone knows, appliances die in threes, a great big metal menage a trois of doom.

I know, I know, people are starving. And we’re not. And I’m very thankful.

And I know also that there are plenty of “Kill Your TV” types who I run into at the grocery store and manage to work it into conversation that they never use a TV to babysit their kids. No sirree, their kids are reading things like Remembrance of Things Past at age 5. Even Downton Abbey and Elmo don’t tempt these types. (Maybe they have missed Elmo dancing to Destiny’s Child’s “Survivor.”)

For better or for worse, we have not killed our TV (on purpose).

We are not known for our wild nights of partying or extravagant trips to far-flung lands. TV is our gateway to pop culture. And I don’t even mean big buzz things like Mad Men or Dexter.

When the kiddos are in bed, we collapse on the couch and stare straight ahead and name as our friends: The Property Brothers, The Kitchen Cousins, Whitney, all the families in Modern Family, Leslie Knope in the Parks & Rec Department and all of those couples just like us who are Hunters of Houses. My brain is tested by what we might do if we were looking for a home in Croatia that only had a hose for running water in the kitchen. So much to consider! I also know more about sheetrock and drywall mudding than I ever thought was possible.

My daughter and I DVR Project Runway All Stars and cuddle up to see whether Austin Scarlett or Mondo will come out on top.

Now, we may never know. The finale is fast approaching, and my TV is a huge paperweight in the middle of the den floor.

Like many appliances, I resisted getting a bigger, newer version and gasped at the price when we bought it three years ago. But when my husband hung it on the wall, like a magnificent post-modern masterpiece, I grudgingly accepted its place in our hearts.

The TV and I grew close. When I had Norovirus and got up in the middle of the night to avoid waking my husband, my TV showed riveting segments of Poker Championships. On TV. It was like watching paint dry, without the annoying smell. When my parents came into town and wanted to play MarioKart on the Wii, our TV brought those colorful race courses to life. And when my husband installed hardwood floors in the den last spring, we even watched our TV from the kitchen, twisted around on our backwards couch.

Sarah Michelle Gellar, we were two weeks behind on whether your twin would manage to kill you and if your husband is really a scheming Ponzi schemer.

We will never know what that football player uncovered about his ancestors on Who Do You Think You Are? Were they slaves? Did they help out on the Underground Railroad? We are still in the dark.

Tonight, we will miss the antics of The Worst Cooks in America. Oh, Bobby Flay! Oh, Anne Burrell! We will miss your guidance and advice about knife skills and French fries.

I feel pretty great right now, though. We don’t have a TV to strike. And people assure me that it will never strike here again. It’s awesome! Our lives are truly on the upswing. No need to send meals or condolence cards–just send us summaries of our favorite plot lines. And stat.

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