The cardboard box

"We were evicted from our hole in the ground; we had to go and live in a lake!"

"You were lucky to have a LAKE! There were a hundred and sixty of us living in a small shoebox in the middle of the road."

"Cardboard box?"

"Aye."

"You were lucky. We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank..."

- Monty Python, The Four Yorkshiremen sketch

* * * * *

How we happened to have a large collapsed cardboard box in our TV room is a story in itself. A few weeks back, I was watching a football game on ESPN while I waited for a soccer match to come on another station a bit later. The soccer match would be presented on tape delay, meaning that it was on-going as I watched the football game. Given that ESPN is forever scrolling the scores from other sporting events along the bottom of the screen, there was a very high likelihood that I would see the outcome of the game I wanted to watch later. That's how I came up with the idea of folding up a box to cover the bottom few inches of the TV screen where the scores were displayed. It needed to be a rather large box, as the TV is a 53" widescreen HDTV. Just so happens I had a box that would do the job. I watched the football game and then switched over to the soccer match never having heard the score.

As I mentioned above, that was a few weeks ago. The box has yet to be put away. The other night we settled in to watch the season premiere of The Office. I was the last one downstairs. By the time I arrive, not only are the sweet seats in the room taken, but the blankets too. Our basement gets kind of chilly with the air conditioning on. A light throw is pretty much a necessity to sit comfortably down there.

Without a spare blanket in sight, I scan the room for something to cover up with. That's when I spot the box standing up against the wall. Without a word, I walk across the room, pick up the box and carry it back to my chair. I position the box over my body. Cover myself in cardboard. The box reaches from my feet to my shoulders.

It is really quite comfortable, the box, and remarkably warm. I feel lucky to have it. My son takes notice and is quick to comment. "What are you doing, Dad?" He has a look of disbelief on his face. "Do you think you are too good to cover yourself with a box?" I ask him. "A cardboard box is all the shelter you will ever need." He rolls his eyes. Wifey knows where this is going and stays out of it.

We watch The Office for a while, my son and my wife under soft down blankets, me under a large cardboard box. Then:

"Dad, are you going to keep that box on top of you for the whole show?" my son asks. I answer affirmatively, repositioning the box gently across my torso. It makes a soft scratching sound where it rubs against my knees. I signal my satisfaction with a smile. My son shakes his head.

We turn our attention back to the television. Moments later:

"Okay, give me the box." My son reaches out with both hands grabbing at the box. "No way," I tell him. "You can't have the box. You were just dissing the box." But he is determined. "Come on. I want the box." I tell him he is not worthy of the box. "Please, let me have the box." Wifey pleads for quiet, telling us she can't hear the television. Finally I relent. "Fine," I tell my son sternly. "You can have the box. But only for a few minutes. After that you have to give it back. Deal?" He agrees.

I pass my son the cardboard box. He passes me his blanket. The box is huge on him. He can barely balance it on his body. "Pretty nice, huh?" My son smiles, his braces glimmering. He feels he has pulled a fast one on the old man. I position the down blanket across my lap and take a sip of wine from my glass before pushing back in my recliner.

Once again we are enjoying the program on TV. Until:

"Dad?"

No response.

"DAD?"

Nothing. Eyes straight ahead.

"Come on, Dad. Give me the blanket back."