Everything in our house is breaking.
First, the slow-close hinge in my new bathroom vanity goes all poltergeist on
me and explodes off the cabinet door in a fit of rage against the remodeling
machine: “You will not have nice things!” Then the toilet downstairs stopped
flushing. The flat-screen downstairs has been turning itself on and off, on and
off since last week, unable to commit like so many of my old college boyfriends. J’s phone also
keeps turning itself on and off, on and off—the tiny, fickle co-conspirator of
its large-screened cousin.
Then yesterday, as I was drying
my hair, my hairdryer died. It just went kaput, abandoning my hair to air-dry into
a cold, crispy mop. J had been gone since the morning, watching football and
playing darts and recharging his Testosterone levels. I can probably
count on one hand the number of times he’s shopped at Target without me, but it
was an emergency. So I called and begged: “Can you please stop on your way home
and buy me a new hairdryer? Mine just died and I can’t leave the house.”
Apparently, having wet hair turns me
into an agoraphobic.
Because he is awesome, he accepted
the challenge. And after a long day of football, darts, and beer, he went to
Target with his best friend to buy his wife a new hairdryer. Confusion and
hijinks ensued (“No, the electronics are over there!” “But the hair stuff is
over here!” “Excuse me, what can you tell me about the specs of these hair
dryers?” “Well, does she have curly, thick hair, or fine, straight hair?” “Hehe,
which one of you has a case of the frizzies?” “My perm’s been really unmanageable
lately…”)
Finally J returned, with my brand
new hairdryer and a nice case of the hiccups.
I was pleased but confused. Just the
hair dryer? No impulse purchases of any kind? The next part of our conversation
went kind of like this:
"I hope this one's okay. It was between this one and one that looked like a giant pink dildo, and I didn't want to be seen with that one."
"No, this is perfect." I inspected it cautiously. "So you just bought the
hairdryer? I thought you might also pick up those stick-on bats like we talked
about. For the blank wall in the living room."
We’re having a Halloween party in a
few weeks, and decorating the house has been an area of concern lately. For me.
J looked at me like I'd asked if he'd mind if I took a dump on the kitchen floor. "S. was with me. I’m
not going to drag him across the store to find some goofy Halloween bats."
"I know, but I can't believe
you just got the dryer... what would you do if I died?"
I don't remember how I made this
leap, exactly. It probably had something to do with the physics of shopping
at Target--namely, that no one in the history of the world has ever walked out
of there with JUST ONE ITEM. Thus, how would you get any household shopping done if I died?
J laughed, like this was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard. "If you died
I wouldn't be decorating the house with bats!!!"
So at least there’s that.
And the endearing image of my husband, hiccupping in
the check-out lane at Target with his best friend from high school, buying just
a hair-dryer for his frizzy-haired, neurotic wife.
