Economical Humanitarianism

Furniture shopping and taking that great big leap deeper into debt can be blissful joy—as long as you jump without looking back. The walls are painted on Werewolf Lane, so it's time to get ready. Mr. Husband and I took advantage of the yearly Macy’s furniture sale on Friday night. We planned, we came, we shopped, we spent.

Are we being economically irresponsible at a time when we should be battening down the hatches? Are we making a mistake and living it up—enjoying the best time of our life without a care in the world? Are we reckless? Are we essentially driving down the busy highway of life without wearing a seatbelt while talking on the cell phone and attempting to apply mascara in the rearview mirror? Are we? Is this robot groom of mine leading us to an early financial grave while I ride shotgun clapping and laughing? A lot of people around us seem to think so. A lot of people are cautioning us to slow down. But Simon and Garfunkle are urging us to feel groovy, and we’re doing it. We are feeding the economy when she needs it most. Instead of reckless, we are economical humanitarians.

Eventually, it all comes down to “who do you trust?” Do I trust my Mr. Husband who has painstakingly carved out a budget that includes finite details and little extras that his wife needs like a small monthly clothes budget? We wholly believe we can manage this financial struggle. We are so American we’re star-spangled to the bone. Spend! Spend! Spend the money before it comes in!

Yes, I trust Mr. Husband. Completely.

So, give my Mr. Husband his ugly red man chair that hurts me to think of it to the left of our beautiful dark brown leather sofa. So he gives me my Dead Man Chair 2000 that makes Mr. Husband want to vomit when he looks upon it. Give it to us. Let us live the dream. Let us find bookshelves and the perfect little end table for Mr. Husband’s beer glass. While we are giving ourselves these little new perks, we realize that this is only a tiny portion of what we need. We still have years to fill each corner with the perfect shaped object to bring out its beauty. We didn’t go crazy. We’d never do that. We were careful and entered the store with a clear game plan after researching online. We knew what we wanted. We divided the store into his and her objects and we compromised and conquered.

It is important that we have a place for all our books. It is important that Mr. Husband be able to know that his wife is curled up comfortably in her favorite reading chair. It is important to replace the Dead Man Chair that I bought for $15 during my sophomore year in college—the chair that has springs sprung in its cushions that have made me always say, “there’s a dead man in there; you can feel his bones sticking out.” We'll keep the ugly chair for the cats, but we'll hide it in a guest room or something. It is important that Mr. Husband be comfortable in his video game loft. He’s already moved a doorway to ensure this outcome. It is important that we have a table for Thanksgiving. That is coming—I’ve saved for months for the perfect table.

We’ll have a comfortable home that we’re eager to spend all our time in while making each other happy. That’s the true goal. We are willing to sacrifice for this perfect goal.