Good Humor Man (Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia)

Wilma's birthday was Saturday (well, was celebrated Saturday; birthdays are celebrated by convenience in their world) and Gary's been shopping all week for gifts. He claims he needs my help with this. I claim he never listens to me anyway so it is pointless. Plus, I had to Teach Myself High-school and College Chemistry in 28 Days, so I was, I don't know, BUSY. He had been wandering around pouting for a week, tempting me with "but it's more fun shopping with you" until I gave in Friday.

However, he was done shopping for his mom by then. So we went to the grocery store, we suckled at the teat, we saw an iridescent purple/green Hummer, we tried to test drive a Prius, and we wasted valuable Chemistry-learning time.

I realized I had been neglecting my husband so (as we wandered aimlessly pinballing from one pointless activity to another) I tried to remain pleasant, but that wore thin when he made a wrong turn and blamed me.

"You were supposed to tell me I was making a wrong turn! Why aren't you paying attention?"
Humor the crazy man, I thought. "You are right. I was neglecting my backseat driving duties."

He wanted food. "Omelet!" he cried, looking at Bob Evans but then veering into the wrong lane. "Quiznos!" We walked toward the Quiznos in the 90-degree heat. "No, too bready" he said halfway there, "Taco Bell."

"What are you having?" he asked in line.
"Expensive Jenny Craig food at home."
"No! You have to eat something! I can't eat alone!"
Humor the crazy man. "One taco."

About four hours in he noticed I was not in my usual feisty mood AND he realized I was impatient and boooorrrreeeeed. He decided I needed to look at acoustic guitars. I pointed out I don't know how to play the electric guitar, plus (given that we have separate bank accounts) I didn't want to spend money on another guitar just yet, plus I wanted to go home. Yet, I still humored the crazy man.

I sat at the guitar store as he scuttled off and relayed guitars to me I could not possibly afford, and I strummed them, and said "No, this one doesn't feel right. Oh, and I don't want to buy an acoustic guitar right now." "This one is purple. Oh, and I don't want to buy an acoustic guitar right now." "I already tested this one. Oh, and I don't want to buy an acoustic guitar right now."

I was counting the guitars I hadn't tested (only 15 guitars to go) when he brought over one that felt good. It sounded good.

"Neh. I don't want to buy a acoustic guitar right now," I said.
"I'll buy it for you!"
Humor the crazy man.

We walked up to the counter with the guitar. Ethics compelled me to ask, "Are you just doing this to get me out of my pissy mood? Because really, all you have to do is take me home. I can buy a guitar just as nice at a pawn shop."
"NO! And you need these skull-shaped guitar picks! And this guitar case!" The guitar store is evil and they put temptations by the register that crazy men cannot resist.

So, I now have two guitars I cannot play, Ding the electric, and Uncle the acoustic. Uncle is an Alvarez guitar, named for one of the many Liz Phair songs that don't sound right on an electric that I now cannot play on an acoustic.

Oh, and Gary's mom loved all of her gifts, and it was nice to be able to say "Gary bought all of those for you all by himself."