As I putter about the house, dusting this and wiping down that, a disturbing realization dawns upon me. Every single item of note has been purchased by Da Man. Nothing by me. Sofas, television, cameras, computers, cars, electronics, kitchen gadgets, appliances, bedding, desks…on and on…all acquired by him. I investigate further, and to my dismay realize that even stationery, and clothing (including some unmentionables) came into the house via his credit card. Da Man: Infinity, Me: Infinitesimal is the score. My goals come courtesy of non-durables and small-ticket items, which second-graders could buy with their lemonade-stand earnings.
I don’t accuse Da Man of making a unilateral power-play because he bought most things either at my request or with my approval. But the fact still remains that he executed the transactions. Ridiculous or not, I feel deprived. Filling up with self-pity, I can’t help reflecting on how things came to become like this, how it all began…
I was a student then, finishing up my studies when I found myself engaged to Da Man. During one of our conversations, one thing led to another, until I let it slip that I did not own a suit. That when time came, I would attend job interviews in simple garb. My admission must have galvanized something in Da Man because he insisted on whisking me away to a mall. There he took me into Macys and asked me to try out suits. I spent the next hour parading in and out of the dressing room in various jackets, skirts, and pants, while Da Man did his evaluations. Three times he nodded aristocratically, and the corresponding combinations were set aside carefully. Da Man had faultless taste, he had unerringly selected the most expensive combos. All that remained doing was to buy one set. When Da Man boldly picked up the entire bunch, for one breathless moment, I thought that my prince was going to buy them all for me.
What he did next is the stuff of legend. After taking a close look at the items, he scribbled down some details. Then he put everything back and rapidly began to exit the store. I ran after him in a state of confusion. Once we were in his car, Da Man explained himself. The suits were overpriced, he said, none were on sale. He would find me a good deal. Despite being a penurious student, I was accustomed to shopping impulsively and allowing ambiance to sway me. So Da Man’s approach came as a complete shock. I still suppressed my doubts, stayed the course, and remained engaged to this man…
Fast forward a couple months. We were now newly married and visiting friends in a different city. While exploring an outlet mall, we stumbled across a haberdashery going out of business. Half-hour later, we walked out triumphantly with four immaculate suits. These suits were superior, yet all put together had cost less than one pair from Macys. Da Man had proved his acumen, and I had to salute the method in his madness. This was, to the best of my recollection, the moment when I handed over shopping reigns to him. In a way, appointed him the keeper of our purse-strings. How clever of Da Man. He had bought me pants, and in the process become the pant-wearer in our relationship.
I snap out of my reverie, return to present time, and catch sight of two items on Bee’s desk. Both pencil sharpeners. Both gargantuan, over-sized for the humble chore that they perform. Both purchased by Da Man. The first is a vintage mechanical monster, the second a modern electric wraith. And neither works properly. As a result, pencil sharpening in our house is a two-stage procedure. First, the monster is used to taper the pencil section, and then the wraith finishes the job- by putting a point on the lead. I decide that this is my chance to show up Da Man and perhaps even wrest back some control. I head off to Target to purchase a new pencil sharpener. Whether they are on sale or not, I am coming home with one.
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Da Man’s sharpeners might dwarf the one I purchased in both stature and cost (see picture)…but mine has the last laugh. It works.
DancingDrums 