Wild Thing

The picture of domestic felicity: Madge is knitting on the couch, Harry is channel-surfing from his favorite armchair. (Click.) Pat O'Brien, looking very nifty...(click) bowling...(click) lions licking themselves in the Serengeti...(click) figure skating...(click) golf.... "Wait," Madge says.

Fred Couples, palm trees as a backdrop, is lining up a 90-foot putt. "Go back," Madge says. "That looked like Viktor Petrenko."

"I don't care if it was Victor Laszlo," says Harry. "No more figure skating."

Couples stifles a yawn. So does Harry, and in the instant that he lets down his guard, Madge snatches the remote control.

(Click.) "It is Viktor Petrenko," she says.

"Looks like he's deer hunting in a disco," Harry says, frowning. "What's with the Day-Glo coat?"

"This is the artistic program. See. He's reading a Dear John letter. Now he's crumpling it up and dropping it onto the ice."

"What an athlete."

"Ooh, I really love this part. Viktor hops onto the boards and flirts with the judges. This might be a rerun of Too Hot to Skate."

Harry grunts in disbelief. Last weekend, in this very room, he had been forced to watch Elvis on ice. The week before it was Challenge of Champions. Tuesday night it was the Battle of the Sexes, with Boom-Boom Mancini judging. That was a treasure. Thursday was the Rock 'n' Roll Skating Championships.