The complexities of firsties

I'm beginning to find that many people either don't understand the concept or firsties, or choose to ignore it.

Maybe it's a generation gap-thing. My parents probably didn't play firsties in their younger days because older meant wiser, and wiser meant, "I do what I want and you deal with it."

But my generation ... we play firsties. Which means that everyone else should follow suit, naturally.

And the first rule to firsties is that you don't talk about firsties.

The second rule is you don't mess with the person that calls firsties. Like when I'm watching something you find laboriously boring - Grey's Anatomy for instance.

I'm a die-hard Grey's fan - I can't help but absorb every dirty detail of Meredith and McDreamy's love affair, Christina's ongoing conquest for the title of "Heart Surgeon Extraordinaire" at Seattle Grace while she treads upon every man she possibly can along the way, and the general smut that is McSteamy's life.

When it's that time, I've readied my snacks, the remote for those quiet moments, the lights are dimmed for effect; I've even laid a blanket on the recliner so my dog can sit comfortably with me for the next hour.

I don't want to be bothered.

But say, I happened to forget to visit the restroom before the show, or I need to make a quick call to ask my friend just why that narcissistic woman, once again, told McDreamy to hit the bricks, and philosophize on what idiotic thought process the producers have undergone for the next episode and why they are ruining my show.

This presents the golden opportunity for which all anti-firsties wait in the wings. Sneaky as they are, they snatch up the remote once I'm out of earshot. Quick as a wink, they turn to a favored channel, hoping to find something even slightly interesting.

And you know what happens next.

"Hey, I'm watching that!"

But no, the anti-firsties don't care. They simply pull the five-minute rule - five minutes away, and I apparently "didn't want to watch anymore," acting all the time like they've been watching their show for at least 20 minutes now, and shouldn't have to change the channel because they're now "invested" in the plot.

"But I was here first!"

That doesn't matter to anti-firsties, though. They just look at you like you've spoken an ancient Egyptian dialect, and continue on with their woodcarving, deer hunting, and/or stockcar snorefests.

Thus begins the epic remote war.

Because, of course, I'm going to lunge at the remote rather than go straight to the television set to resolve my dilemma.

In the midst of the clawing and punching fray, my sixth sense begins to kick in - Grey's will return from those paid announcements from their sponsors soon.

It's panic time, as I begin to understand that grappling for the remote is useless. My only choice is to use any bargaining chip I have in the cable television arsenal.

It's time for some womanly prowess.

"If you let me watch the rest of Grey's, I swear I will never again make you watch a second of 'Charmed.' Ever."

As the thought of what Mr. Anti-firstie likes to refer to as "feeble women trying desperately to perform the physical feats that should be left to a man" crosses his mind, the remote is slowly relinquished unto my possession.

The third rule of firsties - firsties may sometimes fail, but a woman's scorn is always victorious.

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Katy Blair is the Globe associate editor and can be reached at 367-0583 Ext. 210 or katyblair@npgco.com.

http://www.atchisonglobeonline.com/