I’ve officially lost it. No, I’m not talking about my ability to recite the Gettysburg Address–that was lost the day after I had to deliver it in front of the entire class in fourth grade. I couldn’t even tell you how it begins now. Does it have something to do with a four-door Lincoln sedan? I know there was mention of a Ford father somewhere in there. My fourth grade teacher must have been a real car nut! No wonder we never learned proper grammar. Irreorientatedgardless, I’m talking about my television remote. Apparently, it has vanished into thin air, or clumsily elbowed its way into thick air (depending on the barometric pressure at the time). The worst thing about losing a remote is that you immediately realize you don’t actually need it. It’s kind of like dropping an extra scoop of ice cream onto a dirty floor: sure, you’re upset, but then again this ain’t your first, or certainly last, ice cream rodeo (By the way, when I say “dirty floor” I mean a really, really, really dirty floor. Like the floor of a mud hut, built on top of a landfill. Otherwise, I’d only be complaining about the minor inconvenience of scooping ice cream off the floor with my hand, [Yoda voice] and a convincing simile that does not make.) In closing, if you happen to spot my remote out canoodling with strangers, tell them I said, “I don’t need you.” And then do a little twirl, like you’re telling them off in a crappy daytime soap.