Scary Old Things

August 21, 2011

The Husband loves old things. Furniture, trucks, barns, even garden tools. The older and more decrepit, the better. I mean, why spend a few hours cutting 12 acres of 5ft tall grass with a state of the art mower, engineered and built by the same great minds responsible for the construction of NASA space shuttles? When you can spend several months hacking at said 5ft grass with a sickle? And why drive a fuel efficient vehicle with luxuries such as seats, power steering, electric windows and air-conditioning? When you can get yourself a 1960’s dump-truck with almost all it’s seats, windows that don’t roll down either manually or electronically, an exhaust that pumps toxic fumes into the vehicle instead of out and a floor that gets suspiciously hot under your feet as you try driving it anywhere? I can tell you, as a women who embraces all things modern, designed to make life simple, more efficient and comfortable. Who prefers to decorate in a style of clean lines, fresh colors and open spaces, The Husband’s junkyard chic aesthetic, can be very frustrating. But as long as I don’t have to sickle up and hack the grass short, or drive the asphyxiating dump-truck, then our marriage will remain imperfectly in tact. Having said that, a women does have her limits and there comes a point where real lines must be drawn and for me, that line appeared yesterday in the shape of a monkey.

The Husband and I were enjoying a slow paced afternoon filled with long lunches (well, just the one lunch really) and antiquing, and every store we went into, I did a great job policing the amount of additional old stuff he wanted to purchase and add to our already extensive collection of old stuff. Until he clapped eyes on a nasty little bronzed monkey. A monkey he said he just had to have. A monkey that looked intimidating and scary, maybe even possessed. It made me feel uneasy in a Chucky doll kinda way. I told The Husband “no“. “But look“, he said, “its also a business card holder. How cool is that?”Not cool. Not cool at all. That thing is creepy. I don’t want it”. But he wasn’t listening. He was already picturing a spot for it in our home. A place where it could sit in full view to serve as a point of interest and conversation starter for everyone who came to the house. I knew I was fighting a losing battle. This thing had a perceived level of coolness far beyond any fears I may have for my own safely. So no matter what angle I argued, how many boundaries I tried to establish or lines I tried to draw, the evil Chucky Monkey was getting purchased and as a result I’m being forced to tap into my creativity and orchestrate a scenario where poor evil Chucky Monkey accidentally disappears. POOF, gone.

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