Some Super Glue, a Thumb, a Forefinger and......

Why me?

First of all, it's not my fault.

You see I was trying to be thrifty. I had these $.99 ear buds from Walmart for my iPad (Loretta) that came apart and I was trying to fix them. Of course, it did seem to make perfect sense to me at the time, that buying $1.99 worth of super glue to fix $.99 ear buds, seemed logical. Even Mr. Spock would agree. What could possibly happen? I mean it's not like I was going to take another tip of my finger off with a snow blower or anything. Heck, I learned from that experience. Snow blowers are not to be trifled with. Think of the positives: I can cut my fingernails 10% faster now. I mean what's the worst that can happen with super glue?

For some reason, I decided to make the necessary repair in my car in the garage without the garage light or the interior car lights on. With me so far? The lack of light and reasonable working space was not stopping Mr. Fix-It. And so a little too much super glue, a thumb, a forefinger and the necessary pressure to hold the newly glued parts together and.......wait a minute. You thought that I super glued my fingers together, didn't you? Be honest. I mean what type of buffoon do you take me for? (I don't know, how many types are there?) Now I did splash a bit of super glue on my thumb and my forefinger but at no time, I swear Your Honor, did I ever place the aforementioned thumb and forefinger together so as to create a seal the likes of which could only be separated by significant medical intervention. I was close though. I mean I was that (hold your thumb and forefinger together) close. Meanwhile the ear buds are still broken. The skin on both fingers is coated with dried glue and I'm thinking of heading to Walmart to snag me up some of them nice, new, right out of the package $.99 ear buds. Who cares if it costs me $7.50 in gas, the people watching at Walmart is worth it. (While interminably waiting in Walmart's check out line, I try and postulate what the people in front of me had to drink and what quantity they had imbibed prior to having the tattoos I can see, scarred for life into their ample personages. It's fun. You should try it someday.)

Too bad they didn't have $.99 ear buds at Building 19. I could kill two birds with one stone. The bride LOVES Building 19. If you don't know what Building 19 is, it's a discount store for people from the other side of the other side of the tracks and the mother of my children. Knowing a second language, such as Spanish, could be of great value while shopping there. Upon leaving Building 19, I recommend discarding your clothing and taking a chemical bath similar to the one you would take after leaving a nuclear power plant in core meltdown status.

Just last weekend as she was just heading out to go shopping she said, “Is there anything you need?' as she was heading out the door and down the cellar stairs to the garage. I said, in my best George Clooneyesque manner, “A little goodbye kiss would be nice.” Now it really wasn't fair of me since she was halfway down the stairs when I said that, so I didn't hold it against her when I heard the garage door opening. But wouldn't you know, seconds later who appears in the doorway, with a smile that would make the Cheshire cat proud, the former Miss Massachusetts. She was giggling all the way over to my chair and with great care and affection she planted a loving kiss on me that made my heart race like a schoolboy. Since she was giggling hysterically after the smooch I knew there was more here than meets the eye. I said to her, “You came back because you forgot something, didn't you?” And she said, “Yes, my coupons.” Hey, at least she's honest. I'm still laughing about that one.

I don't want to say the Bride is cheap, I prefer parsimonious. But she loves to shop. She can take off any Sunday afternoon and go shopping, come back five hours later with one small Building 19 bag in her hands and say what a great shopping day she had and she only spent $3.50. She's gone for five hours. It costs me $3.50. I get to watch “unencumbered” golf on Sunday afternoon and she's happy as a clam at high tide. The classic win-win situation. I actually encourage it on Sunday mornings over coffee and the morning paper. When the Sunday of The Masters is on, she doesn't have to ask, she just goes. Since the Sunday of The US Open is on Father's Day, she starts to ask, doesn't and heads out the door about 30 seconds before I turn on the broadcast.

Invariably she'll return from the forest primeval at exactly the wrong time. You could set your watch by hearing the garage door motor start up and watching the tournament leader's first putt on the 18^th green ending up 5 feet short because of the tremendous pressure he's under trying to win a million dollars, an invitation to next year's Masters and ascension from golfing obscurity. Next is me begging the player to run up and hit the damn 5 foot putt as fast as he can before I hear the door open from the cellar, soon to be followed by the obligatory “Wait 'til you see what I bought and it only cost me $3.50” from the bride. But no, the player walks up, marks his ball and I have the evoke the wisdom of King Solomon to sustain my marriage and postpone watching the finale of the gut wrenching conclusion of the tournament I've just devoted five precious hours of my life to.

This used to be a problem before we got a DVR. The DVR allows you to pause live television, for those of you who don't know. If you don't know, you probably don't watch TV all that much and don't need a DVR. I was born with a clicker in my hand. The DVR now allows me to gently and effectively pause the tournament that's on, look over to the bride, who by now is walking into the TV room, smiling ear to ear about what an astute shopper she is, and muster up my best “now I'm going to pretend that I really give a sh_t” smile about what she bought. I mean, Christmas, we've been married 41 years and she's bought a gazillion things over that time, but journeyman golfer, Joe Bag 'O Donuts, has a five footer for immortality. There is no justice. She sits down on the couch (now that I've paused the TV and am smiling) and proceeds to tell me in excruciating length and detail about how the $3.50 item she bought at Building 19 was marked down and the fact that the very same item, she always emphasizes “THE VERY SAME ITEM” was at store X at the mall for $7.95. I congratulate her (without using the phrase “that's nice”) for her wisdom and frugality, trying to sound like I would immediately donate the money saved to enhance the endowment at Harvard, and subtly, ever so subtly, glance over to the now frozen TV picture. Since I married her for her good looks, her impeccable taste in choosing husbands and her amazing grasp for the obvious, she will now say something like, “Oh, you're watching golf.........” And I'll say something incredibly smooth like, “Noooooooooo problem. That looks like a fine item you purchased. You should have bought two of them. Did you leave the burner on in the kitchen?”

In the long run, she got what she wanted. I got what I wanted. And the guy with the five footer missed the putt and Tiger won again.

Now where did I leave that super glue?

Until next time.