As I was reaching into the depths of our couch cushions to retrieve our tv remote, I felt a strange affinity for the trusty device.
My remote control is…
Always sticky, covered in God-knows-what-from-God-knows-where,
Constantly getting its buttons pushed,
Running on old batteries, yet still expected to get the job done.
Endures temper tantrums when it doesn’t provide instant gratification,
(and likes to hide in the bathroom too)
Has the appearance of control, but is merely a means to an end,
Is sleek and slim—
The metaphor was nearly perfect.