Prime-Time Alignment

I walked back from the laundromat, kicked off my boots' outdoor dust, and marched straight into the living room. Eight-thirty at night is strictly reserved for the nightly news broadcast, yet right on the sofa armrest, a rectangular wooden remote-control caddy was shoved completely crooked, teetering over the fabric seam at a disgraceful fifteen-degree angle! Disgraceful! A caddy cannot hold electronics safely when tilting toward the carpet. I planted my brown shoes firmly on the ribbed corduroy, gripped the oak edge with both hands, and gave it one sharp, solid shove until it clicked flush against the arm trim. Then I sank squarely into the corner cushion, leaned back, and let the broadcast roll in total peace.