By the third day without television, our lives were a living hell.

I knew we were in trouble the first day the picture on our RCA television sank, leaving a strip of empty blackness at the top.

Television is the tie that binds The Other Half and I. He first proposed to me after muting one of the NCAA Final Four games. We broke up during the news. He proposed the second time while watching a "M.A.S.H." rerun.

Not surprisingly, our marriage has settled into a little television-based routine. We wake up and go to the gym, anxiously rushing to a row of televisions in front of the Stairmasters and treadmills. Our day begins with "The Price is Right," where contestants match wits against Aunt Jemima brand pancake mix and bars of Lava soap.

I have to be at work by noon, so "The Young and the Restless" keeps me company during my beauty (ha ha) routine. Mr. Half goes in later, so he can catch "Tempestt" and the rest of the early-afternoon talk-show gang.

Unfortunately, we both miss prime-time television due to work, but there are various reruns and HBO movies to keep us entertained until well after midnight. I've actually turned down a whoopie session to watch "Seinfeld."

Pitiful, isn't it?

Because of owning a working television, we never really had to communicate. Contrary to what the therapists say, that sort of disassociation is what keeps marriage alive.

Then the television had to go and break. And, of course, Mr. Half hadn't saved the receipt. It was his first solo purchase after our unfortunate breakup, he said, and he wasn't exactly thinking about saving television receipts. He was distraught and wondering how to continue life without me.

Nice try, Buddy. That receipt is probably stuck in a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition somewhere.

I'll never forget the Ordeal of the Broken TV.

DAY 1-60: For about two months, Mr. Half and I took turns smacking the television. We discovered early on that hitting the side or top made the picture straighten out for about five or 10 minutes. Turning it off and on also helped temporarily.

DAY 61: We called RCA and discovered all the televisions with the same model number as ours had the same problem. They said they would reimburse the repair bill, which was the push we needed to take the television somewhere.

DAY 62: After much weeping and gnashing of the teeth, we dropped off the television at a repair shop. A huge pile of dust was discovered underneath the set (oops). We sat and watched the dust pile for a long time.

DAY 63-66: We called the repair shop every day, begging for news, until they very strongly suggested we not call again until we heard from them. Our home conversation dropped to the "What do you wanna do?" and "I dunno -- what do YOU wanna do?" level.

Attempts to read books and magazines didn't fill the void. Ordering pizza was out of the question because eating it without television seemed too weird.

We sat on the corner in front of Shivelbine's, where a big screen television is turned on all night.

DAY 67: There was a communication breakthrough. Mr. Half and I started talking about a variety of topics to pass the time. We realized we have nothing in common.

DAY 68: The television repair shop called and told us to pick up our set. Mr. Half and I swore we would continue our communication despite the television's return.

DAY 69: Both of us were injured in a fist fight over who got to hold the remote control.

Sad to say, we're back in our little rut of game shows, soaps and sitcoms. The pizza man is happy to be getting so much in tips again.

And we're saving for a spare television, just in case.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer at the Southeast Missourian.