Turning 50 wasn't really a big deal for me.
Until now.
The Day itself came and went--a Monday, with all the usual weekday hoo-ha so there wasn't much time to dwell on a half-century of life. Tuesday came, and the b-day was pretty much in my rear view mirror.
What lingered, though, was this...urge. Y'know, that feeling some of us get around Christmas time when you're getting stuff for everyone else...that little voice that says, "Hey, you've been a good boy, why not grab something for yourself?"
It's back.
I want to get myself something. A bauble. A trinket. Or, something big, like a high-def TV or a Blackberry. Something that says, "Dig me, I made it to 50 with all of my limbs AND my original liver."
I have yet to act out on that urge, but I did make an impulse buy the other day--a purchase that cost me far more money and sweat equity than I ever could've imagined. Oh, and did I mention it created what could've been a dangerous road hazard for my fellow drivers? And, created a riff between me and my beloved wife of 25 years?
I was at "Office Depot" the other day, picking up mouse and keyboard pads to replace the worn-out, misshapen originals that grace the computer in my wife's TV room. This is truly HER space--she picked out all of the furnishings but generously lets me use the computer therein. The only problem: we don't have enough places to sit. The couch is hers, and the only other seating option is the office chair by the computer. It's either that, or the floor. At 50, I don't do floors anymore. Rather, I can't get OFF said floors anymore.
As I strolled the "Depot" I noticed a lovely line of brand new office chairs, including one on sale for a mere $99...it retailed for $209! It's a beauty: leather, with arms and a high back and a plush, cushy seat that would fit my tuckus quite nicely. I'm not an impulsive guy, but I pounced. And, I had it assembled, too. Now, all I had to do was fit it in the car for the short ride home.
Problem: my splurge wouldn't fit in the back seat, so I tied it down in the trunk and headed home, cell in hand to tell my wife what I'd done. As I gleefully described my buy, I noticed the hood bobbing up and down in my mirror--then, I heard a "thud", followed by another bob or two.
Then, the cars behind me started to slow...one stopped, as the legs of my new chair, the legs that were perched delicately outside the trunk, became airborne before skidding across the road and, to the best I can figure, exploded in a shower of mangled plastic and unhinged casters.
"I gotta go," I told my wife. "There's a traffic problem." I didn't say I was it.
I pulled over and ran to the trunk, where my plastic-wrapped chair remained nestled next to my spare tire, with only a bloody stump remaining where the legs should be. I scrambled across the road, picking up the shards, watching $99 sprout wings and fly away while thanking God the pieces didn't go through someone's windshield.
Did I call my wife back to fess up? Hell no--I called the "Depot" back and ordered up another chair. I disposed of the broken one in my trunk, rolled the new one into my wife's room, and planned on spending the rest of my life living a lie. It was a good plan, too, except that every time I sat there, little voices kept reminding me of my afternoon's misadventure. I lasted all of one night before coming clean on the air Tuesday morning amid rollicking laughter from my colleagues. I even made sure my wife was on the phone to hear the confession.
The aftermath?
My wife isn't mad about me paying twice for a single chair. The bigger issue: me making an impulse buy for a room she deems her own. She, who has fashion sense and the college degree to prove it, deems my purchase too big for her area, and not in keeping with her chosen motif. My crime, it seems, isn't greed or sloth or even bad bungee-cording: it's exerting my free will in an area where I don't have any.
The moral of the story?
I should've just bought the farkin' HDTV. And, had it delivered.
Until now.
The Day itself came and went--a Monday, with all the usual weekday hoo-ha so there wasn't much time to dwell on a half-century of life. Tuesday came, and the b-day was pretty much in my rear view mirror.
What lingered, though, was this...urge. Y'know, that feeling some of us get around Christmas time when you're getting stuff for everyone else...that little voice that says, "Hey, you've been a good boy, why not grab something for yourself?"
It's back.
I want to get myself something. A bauble. A trinket. Or, something big, like a high-def TV or a Blackberry. Something that says, "Dig me, I made it to 50 with all of my limbs AND my original liver."
I have yet to act out on that urge, but I did make an impulse buy the other day--a purchase that cost me far more money and sweat equity than I ever could've imagined. Oh, and did I mention it created what could've been a dangerous road hazard for my fellow drivers? And, created a riff between me and my beloved wife of 25 years?
I was at "Office Depot" the other day, picking up mouse and keyboard pads to replace the worn-out, misshapen originals that grace the computer in my wife's TV room. This is truly HER space--she picked out all of the furnishings but generously lets me use the computer therein. The only problem: we don't have enough places to sit. The couch is hers, and the only other seating option is the office chair by the computer. It's either that, or the floor. At 50, I don't do floors anymore. Rather, I can't get OFF said floors anymore.
As I strolled the "Depot" I noticed a lovely line of brand new office chairs, including one on sale for a mere $99...it retailed for $209! It's a beauty: leather, with arms and a high back and a plush, cushy seat that would fit my tuckus quite nicely. I'm not an impulsive guy, but I pounced. And, I had it assembled, too. Now, all I had to do was fit it in the car for the short ride home.
Problem: my splurge wouldn't fit in the back seat, so I tied it down in the trunk and headed home, cell in hand to tell my wife what I'd done. As I gleefully described my buy, I noticed the hood bobbing up and down in my mirror--then, I heard a "thud", followed by another bob or two.
Then, the cars behind me started to slow...one stopped, as the legs of my new chair, the legs that were perched delicately outside the trunk, became airborne before skidding across the road and, to the best I can figure, exploded in a shower of mangled plastic and unhinged casters.
"I gotta go," I told my wife. "There's a traffic problem." I didn't say I was it.
I pulled over and ran to the trunk, where my plastic-wrapped chair remained nestled next to my spare tire, with only a bloody stump remaining where the legs should be. I scrambled across the road, picking up the shards, watching $99 sprout wings and fly away while thanking God the pieces didn't go through someone's windshield.
Did I call my wife back to fess up? Hell no--I called the "Depot" back and ordered up another chair. I disposed of the broken one in my trunk, rolled the new one into my wife's room, and planned on spending the rest of my life living a lie. It was a good plan, too, except that every time I sat there, little voices kept reminding me of my afternoon's misadventure. I lasted all of one night before coming clean on the air Tuesday morning amid rollicking laughter from my colleagues. I even made sure my wife was on the phone to hear the confession.
The aftermath?
My wife isn't mad about me paying twice for a single chair. The bigger issue: me making an impulse buy for a room she deems her own. She, who has fashion sense and the college degree to prove it, deems my purchase too big for her area, and not in keeping with her chosen motif. My crime, it seems, isn't greed or sloth or even bad bungee-cording: it's exerting my free will in an area where I don't have any.
The moral of the story?
I should've just bought the farkin' HDTV. And, had it delivered.
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