Meanwhile, back at the hotel liquidation warehouse…
…I was scheming to buy various pieces of furniture while Michael loitered impatiently near the door, a scowl plastered across his face.
As I drifted in his general direction I considered my options.
I could, of course, try my famous but rarely-used “bottom line” offensive, whereby I argued that by spending money we’d make more: “If the house were more attractively furnished,” I’d say, “we could charge a higher rent.”
Or I could trot out my even more rarely used “Don’t worry, I’ve got it” strategy, a truly desperate measure that involved my paying for a coveted item out of my own pocket rather than charging it to our joint credit card.
But it was no use. Michael’s expression told me that nothing was going to work today.
We went home empty-handed.
And yet I wasn’t about to give up.
Late afternoon found me gazing longingly at the sparsely-furnished back wall of our great room.
Any fool could see that it was crying out for an armoire, right?
As dusk fell, the idea of armoire-ownership began to assume almost mystical powers in my mind. If I were the proud possessor of an armoire, I told myself, my hair would grow thicker, my temperament would improve, I’d stop watching TV cooking shows.
In short, I would become an upgraded version of myself.
The hard part, of course, was conveying this sense of urgency to Michael without simultaneously convincing him that I needed psychiatric intervention
I waited until the cocktail hour to broach the subject. As a subtle preamble I began pacing up and down the room, back and forth, to and fro.
Surely Michael would ask what I was doing, which would force me to confess (reluctantly of course) that I couldn’t get the armoire out of my mind, and that I was trying to figure out where we could possibly fit it in.
But he didn’t say a word.
I made myself another drink and kept pacing.
He got out his laptop and started playing Solitaire.
I paced even more.
Eventually he brought up the subject of dinner.
Dinner! Who could eat at a time like this?
“You know that armoire we saw today?” I blurted out, unable to contain myself one second longer.
“Which one?” he asked innocently, looking up from his game.
“All of them,” I threw back, exhausted from all the pacing.
“I remember there were lots of armoires,” he said in his most reasonable tone.
“I think I’m going to buy one of them.”
“Let’s have chicken.”
I went back to the warehouse the next day and bought three framed prints, a bench…
…and an armoire.
It was a moment of supreme triumph.
And although I’m fairly sure it was an unnecessary precaution, I used the “Don’t worry, I’ve got it” strategy and paid for everything myself.