The Much Younger Trophy Wife truly rawks! The 5 children she bore (two at home with a midwife) make today her day! Followed closely by her innate coolness as demonstrated by asking, last year, for an outdoor grill as her Mother’s Day gift. I often fondly remember our quality time in Home Depot and my sacrificial sacrifice in sacrificing so much sacrifice to provide the desire of her heart. What might this Mother’s Day bring?
Perhaps a huge flat screen (The NFL starts in just 4 months, honey!) or an XBox 360 game (You can turn off the bloody special effects in Call of Duty 15, baby! It’s perfect!) or perhaps a second game system altogether to help pass the 4 months until football (What about a Wii? They have a fitness game and you could lose those extra few pounds, sweetheart!). I know, could I BE a better husband?
My youngest daughter and my bride have spent the last week polishing the silver since our extended family Mother’s Day is at our place this year. One piece in particular is a beautiful pitcher. It’s a family heirloom. It sounded innocent enough. “Thanks for those wonderful suggestions, honey. But for Mother’s Day this year I think I’d like artificial roses to put in the pitcher to use as a centerpiece.” How hard could this be? I agreed.
And so it began. “Let’s just run by (insert creepy horror suspense movie music here) Hobby Lobby!” Unable to speak due to the sudden lack of oral moisture, I merely nodded. She vanished to the back of the house and returned in a moment with a cheery, “OK, let’s go!” I naively comforted myself perhaps it would end quickly. “Remember when you bought “The 5000 Year Leap”? It took longer to PAY for the book than to pick it out! This might not take long!” Then I remembered the Trophy Wife’s confused frown and observation – “Guy shopping is so unsatisfying!”
I realized how bad it would be when I noted my bride was carrying a bag INTO the store. She had brought the pitcher with her so she could see how different flowers would actually look. I could only look for the man-law required Union sniper posted to provide clean, fast endings to shopping experiences such as this. Damn those contractually mandated breaks! Instead of high velocity, large caliber weapons fire, all I heard were happy chirping sounds coming from the general vicinity of my wife.
The store’s Jumbotron “Husband-cam 2000 ™” immediately picked me up as I shuffled obediently a pace or two behind my bride. I think it was slaved to a pheromone detector set to identify “Terror” and broadcast away. The Much Younger Trophy Wife glanced condescendingly at merely mortal women unable to get their husbands to accompany them. Engulfed in unfamiliar aromas, my jangled male nerves flitting between “Fight” and “Flight”, I saw it. A verdant rainforest in a corner of the store. The “Artificial Horticulture Assembly” department. I was doomed.
Passing neon signs flashing the subliminal message “Dead Man Walking” at intervals calculated to enhance male discomfort we approached fully 30 aisles of fake roses in every possible color. At one point I squealed in delight, “Honey, look!! They have Ford Mustang, Muscle-Car, Indigo Midnight Blue, Metallic Flake No Chip Finish colored roses!! How about these in the dining room?” She just smiled and pulled the pitcher from the bag and handed it to me. Smiling and stupid, I took it and literally heard the click of the trap springing closed. My Mustang mania died as she sweetly offered, “Perhaps! But these might look nicer! Could you help decide, please?”
Numbly, I held the pitcher while she arranged the flowers in it. Then, stepping back and reaching into the bag she whipped out a valance from a Dining Room window and draped it over my shoulder and arm. For the next eternity or so I dutifully raised and lowered my arm like a demented railroad crossing to provide a comparative backdrop for an seemingly inexhaustible supply of roses, accent flowers and various garlands. At one point, two women – total strangers – without their husbands in tow, approached us and actually openly laughed at my discomfort. As my wife preened, in recognition of her superior skills, these women offered the encouragement, “Think of the points you’re earning!” Enter the coup de grace …
The word “points” reminded me of sports. I glanced up at the Jumbotron Husband-cam ™ and realized my experience was being carried live, in its entirety, on the Hobby Lobby Shopping Network. In HD. My own personal “Truman Show” nightmare. The Much Younger Trophy Wife bought the DVD along with her flowers. It had been recorded and edited for her while she shopped! I think she’s planning on sending it out as this year’s Christmas video. As fate would have it, the Union sniper was off on yet another break as I stumbled blindly back to the mini-van. No matter … something died inside anyway …
Happy Mother’s Day, honey! I love you more than I could ever say. Enough to shop with you anytime, anywhere!