We had saved up and waited for the prices to come down, and finally on Black Friday, we got up at the crack of dawn, went to the electronics store, and got an incredible, sexy new TV in high definition.

Even though I was going to spend half my week waiting for service people, I was really excited about our new TV. We only had two TVs in the house, both of which were from the Ice Age, and one of which had a nasty habit of going black in mid-program until you got up off the couch and whacked it.

We counted the days, and then I stayed home all day until finally the TV arrived. I stayed home another day until the installers arrived. And then stayed home a third day until the satellite company arrived. In no time at all, they had determined the optimal place on the roof to set up the dish where it was unobtrusive, unobstructed, and in perfect alignment with some big high-def-delivering satellite in the sky.

That night we all gathered in front of the TV with big bowls of popcorn, fired up the remote, and saw — nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing. At the bottom of a blank screen, there was a message that said, “Searching for signal.” We waited while it kept searching. And searching. And searching.

The popcorn was good, though.

The next day my husband called some people and ranted and raved, and then told me I had to wait home another day for the satellite people to move the dish.

Two days later, the satellite people came back, they took out the dish, and they moved it to another location on the roof. I checked the channels and was thrilled to see TV on our TV. Later we all watched lots of TV, ate more popcorn and went to bed too late. Then, in the middle of the night while I was dreaming in high def, my son woke me.

“Mom, something is dripping on my face,” he complained. I followed him into his room and noticed that a) it was pouring outside and b) it was also pouring inside. We looked up and saw that water was leaking out of my son’s ceiling right over his bed.

“Maybe Santa’s sled knocked off a shingle when he landed,” I wondered.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” said my husband.

“Ah, right,” I replied. Since there was nothing we could do to fix it at the moment, We moved the bed, set up a bucket and left a message for a roof guy to come check the roof. And then I waited home another day. After he came, I called my husband.

“We found the leak,” I told him.

“What was it?” he asked.

“The satellite dish. Apparently when they moved the satellite dish, they never plugged the old holes.”

He groaned. “So is it fixed?”

“No, the roofer has to come back. I have to wait at home for another day.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” he sympathized.

“It’s okay,” I sighed. “I’ll just watch some more TV.”

— For more Lost in Suburbia, follow Tracy on Facebook at facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage or on Twitter at @TracyBeckerman.