Game night. Tipoff was in twenty and Jerry couldn’t find the remote. He kicked himself for not realizing sooner. This wasn’t unexpected.
She always hid it somewhere easy – under the couch, behind a lamp – but today’s spot was bordering on the diabolical.
Again, not unexpected. His mother despised basketball. But he thought her blind hatred for the sport would’ve died with her.
He found the remote tucked inside the freezer. A first.
Thankfully, it worked. But now he had to deal with a petulant parent.
“Keep it up and I’ll call the realtor,” he warned.
“Then who will you haunt?”
The Weekday One Hundred 