Labor Day. Instead of driving to Florida to play with Harold and mom and dad, where we would have had super fun worthy of a carnival, we stayed in Birmingham to hit up the local stores to stock up on stuff we need for the new house. Important stuff like a refrigerator and kitchen table that are essential to seeing our Thanksgiving Turkey Excellent Adventure come to fruition and not-so-important stuff like a chest of drawers that, while not being essential, will help us (we firmly believe) decrease the piles of clothes on the floor that are ever the bane of my existence (and totally my fault). In order to get the best possible use of our time, we dragged Nader and Hind along with us for our humorous enjoyment. Our helping-friendly Arabs were celebrating the start of Ramadan and enjoying their fast from all foods and tobacco products, but we were not scared. They helped tremendously—even if they didn’t realize it and were super hungry.
We met at Haverty’s and walked through the store together, testing couches and pointing out
the ridiculous, which is anything we declare not within our taste brackets. It was fun and laughter and light. We eventually made our way up to the kitchen table that we’d had our eye on for months and months and months. The dang thing still didn’t go on sale. Ugh. But we look so perfect sitting around it and the lazy susan in the center is a selling point that Mr. Husband labels “clever” and the wine rack and shelves underneath the table make me dream of storage (and wine). The height is perfect for Mr. Husband’s giant legs to fold beneath, and we think we can raise a family on that table it’s so gosh darn perfect. That's a big table. Sold!
But in order to take advantage of the no interest deal, you have to buy more. That’s how they get you. That’s how we get suckered in. That’s what makes me cross my arms over my chest and what makes Mr. Husband bite his nails. We realize we must spend, but on what? Must make the best possible use of this money we must spend. Wine bar or chest of drawers? It was tough. And the saleslady was eager to encourage us—why not have it all? Look at the extra storage under the bed frame! See the velvet-lined drawers! Buy it now, or it may not be here next time! Everyone in the city has the same thing! (How that is a selling point, I’m not quite sure.) Buy! Buy! Buy! The world is your big fat Haverty’s oyster.
She was good to pressure us but also good to lay low and let us stare at each other with confused faces. Perplexed we were. And maybe we frightened her a bit we were so deep in thought. So w
e went to the Arabs who listened and nodded like good psychologists and didn’t offer an opinion one way or the other, for our Arabs would not have this debate—just buy it all! I talked it out with Nader and Hind by talking at them, the hungry nodding backboards, and we only took what is necessary to get the special deal. Close the deal. We selected a chest of drawers, which is one step toward replacing the current bedroom furniture that has sharp corners on it that like to stab me. Keep all sharp corners away from my legs that flash by without thought and hate to get stabbed. Clumsy is a virtue to be protected.
Next stop: refrigerator. Our first fridge. Our very own fridge. She must be ready and willing and perfect for magnets. She must have a purifier. She must have Diet Coke can holders and a special place for my veggies. She must have a removable shelf for the magnum of champagne that we’re sure we’ll buy one year for New Year’s Eve. Careful planning goes into a fridge. Mr. Husband decided earlier this week that he needs the French door design with the freezer on the bottom. Well, now, I wouldn’t want Mr. Husband to suffer or possibly die because Mrs. Wife doesn’t understand aesthetics. I do. I’m here for you, Mr. Husband! And I willingly agreed to the plan that upped our fridge basic price quite a bit. But she was perfect. Absolutely 
beautiful. And the salesman knocked $200 off the price. I didn’t know they could do that. (Surely, we’ve been had.)
Our fridge will be black to match our dark-side-of-the-moon kitchen. She will purr and serve perfect ice cubes and we will be satisfied with the fact that we struggled for over an hour longer at the store to ensure we got the 4% sales tax for the Inverness area instead of 7.5% for the Hoover area. As we left the store, Mr. Husband asked me, “how does it feel to be financially sound?” He is teaching me. I am learning. I have never been in charge of my finances—they have always been in charge of me. He
has taught me the care of money management, and, now, we are enjoying the reward.
And, then, I bought shoes.
We met at Haverty’s and walked through the store together, testing couches and pointing out
the ridiculous, which is anything we declare not within our taste brackets. It was fun and laughter and light. We eventually made our way up to the kitchen table that we’d had our eye on for months and months and months. The dang thing still didn’t go on sale. Ugh. But we look so perfect sitting around it and the lazy susan in the center is a selling point that Mr. Husband labels “clever” and the wine rack and shelves underneath the table make me dream of storage (and wine). The height is perfect for Mr. Husband’s giant legs to fold beneath, and we think we can raise a family on that table it’s so gosh darn perfect. That's a big table. Sold!But in order to take advantage of the no interest deal, you have to buy more. That’s how they get you. That’s how we get suckered in. That’s what makes me cross my arms over my chest and what makes Mr. Husband bite his nails. We realize we must spend, but on what? Must make the best possible use of this money we must spend. Wine bar or chest of drawers? It was tough. And the saleslady was eager to encourage us—why not have it all? Look at the extra storage under the bed frame! See the velvet-lined drawers! Buy it now, or it may not be here next time! Everyone in the city has the same thing! (How that is a selling point, I’m not quite sure.) Buy! Buy! Buy! The world is your big fat Haverty’s oyster.
She was good to pressure us but also good to lay low and let us stare at each other with confused faces. Perplexed we were. And maybe we frightened her a bit we were so deep in thought. So w
e went to the Arabs who listened and nodded like good psychologists and didn’t offer an opinion one way or the other, for our Arabs would not have this debate—just buy it all! I talked it out with Nader and Hind by talking at them, the hungry nodding backboards, and we only took what is necessary to get the special deal. Close the deal. We selected a chest of drawers, which is one step toward replacing the current bedroom furniture that has sharp corners on it that like to stab me. Keep all sharp corners away from my legs that flash by without thought and hate to get stabbed. Clumsy is a virtue to be protected.
Next stop: refrigerator. Our first fridge. Our very own fridge. She must be ready and willing and perfect for magnets. She must have a purifier. She must have Diet Coke can holders and a special place for my veggies. She must have a removable shelf for the magnum of champagne that we’re sure we’ll buy one year for New Year’s Eve. Careful planning goes into a fridge. Mr. Husband decided earlier this week that he needs the French door design with the freezer on the bottom. Well, now, I wouldn’t want Mr. Husband to suffer or possibly die because Mrs. Wife doesn’t understand aesthetics. I do. I’m here for you, Mr. Husband! And I willingly agreed to the plan that upped our fridge basic price quite a bit. But she was perfect. Absolutely 
beautiful. And the salesman knocked $200 off the price. I didn’t know they could do that. (Surely, we’ve been had.)Our fridge will be black to match our dark-side-of-the-moon kitchen. She will purr and serve perfect ice cubes and we will be satisfied with the fact that we struggled for over an hour longer at the store to ensure we got the 4% sales tax for the Inverness area instead of 7.5% for the Hoover area. As we left the store, Mr. Husband asked me, “how does it feel to be financially sound?” He is teaching me. I am learning. I have never been in charge of my finances—they have always been in charge of me. He
has taught me the care of money management, and, now, we are enjoying the reward.And, then, I bought shoes.
1 comment:
This may be a first since we usually have such different taste, but I would totally wear those shoes.
--Deborah
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