In a drastic measure to realize a childhood dream, Daver had been petitioning for an air hockey table for about a year. I can’t complain about trying to realize childhood dreams, righting what once went wrong, or in my own case, buying my kids the crap my parents refused me. As my parents were hippies, their idea of “toys” consisted of those lovely wooden figures, you know, the ones that you buy in those specialty stores for about a million bucks?

Problem was, I’m not much of a wooden figure person. I longed not-so-secretly for Barbies (not allowed in my house under any circumstance), a Baby Pee-Pee, and most importantly a Power Wheels.

I am sad to report that although my not-so-subtle drip-drip method of acquisition (it’s likened to being pecked to death by an adorable chicken) never managed to work in this case.

So I plan to do what any mature and responsible parent would do, I’m going to buy my kids the one thing that I always wanted and never got (the Barbies and Baby Pee-Pee aren’t really appropriate for my boys, gender stratification and all): a Power Wheels. This is providing, of course, that they aren’t off the market by the time I’m IN the market for it.

Dave is aware of this impending expenditure, and would possibly complain were it not that the deck is now totally stacked in my favor. What on Earth (besides blow jobs) did I do to convince him, you ask?

I let him buy the fancy air hockey table he has been oogling.

It appears as though unfortunately even I am not immune the not-so-subtle drip-drip method.

When I was released this weekend from the purgatory that is getting my eyes examined (for some freakish reason, even though I have to do this yearly, my dread only intensifies with each year. No clue why), Dave and Ben took me over to “see something.” That “something” happened to be a half-priced air hockey table. Dave had used the fact that I love very little more than a good bargain (or a good humping) against me, damn him straight to hell!

There were three models sitting menacingly there, all at half off their sticker price, and Dave knew to start me on the cheapest, which was a full $60 cheaper than the next one up and looked it. It was ugly as fuck. No way is that going into our basement, I said, which happened to be his cue to point out the nicer model. I saw it and immediately agreed: the price was reasonable, the set up wasn’t too hideous, and it wasn’t nearly as HUGE as the highest price one.

I could hear a silent “fuck” pass over Daver’s eyes, as he then hastily backpedaled to point out all of the glaring problems with it. It didn’t have a score keeper computer (so.fucking.what?), it was smaller (good, GREAT!), and the legs looked weaker (there were no legs to be seen on the display).

Turns out, he’d been trying to sell me on option Number 3 and because my eyes were still fucked up from the exam, I hadn’t realized his angle until I had agreed to Option 2.

Option 3 was only about $20 higher than Option 2, which is not a sum that makes me go “Woah, Nellie!” but what I didn’t like about it was that it was so fucking huge. When I said as much, Daver and Ben immediately insisted that it only looked that way because my eyes were still adjusting back to normal from the exam, and because I was hot, hungry, and tired, I finally agreed to Option 3.

Who am I to deny someone their childhood dream?

Turns out that I happen to have “Sucker” written on my forehead, with what a piss poor decision I agreed to.

When Daver dropped us off at home and went back for the table, he realized that there was no way in hell that he was going to fit it inside our truck (which is only midsized), and had to borrow our generous neighbors Suburban.

Once he got it home, he had to enlist the help of ANOTHER neighbor to get the damn thing inside (we live in the world’s best neighborhood. Seriously), and once he set it gleefully up and called me down to see it, I nearly swallowed my own fucking tongue.

We have a finished basement, and the fucking albatross takes up half of one of the rooms. HALF OF ONE OF THE ROOMS.

(I would put a picture here but you wouldn’t be able to see it’s massiveness to scale. One could easily surmise that our basement was teeny-tiny and that the air hockey table was just a normal size, but looked much bigger. This, my friends, couldn’t be farther from the truth).

Now, we hadn’t exactly decided WHAT to do with that half of the room, and although I’d repeatedly petitioned for a Cotton Candy machine to put there, sadly no one had agreed to it, which is why I stubbornly refused Dave’s suggestion of a bar to go there. Besides, when the basement is The Teenagers Lair, I’m assuming that a bar would be the last thing we’d need there.

And to be completely honest, it’s not that it’s so massive (it’s seriously as big or a little bigger than our dining room table, with it’s leaves in) or that it hulks at me menacingly when I go downstairs to do laundry, it’s that someday, when the novelty has worn completely off, it’s going to become a flat storage space. Or a train table. Or a place to sort your dime bag.

Then, eventually, I will have to devise some way of storing it that doesn’t involve putting it on the side of the road for someone else to take, lest I get killed by certain members of my family who, despite the overwhelming layers of dust, will INSIST that they DO play it! Regularly!

Maybe this is the time to tell Dave about the fully functional Hot Dog Cart I bought for our bedroom. I can tell him he’ll hardly notice it’s there, sleeping tenderly on his side of the bed.

Comments = full of the awesome. Like gravy. I can haz an RSS RSS feed .

11 Responses to To Love, Honor, And REPAY

  • Ashley says:

    So what you’re saying is that basically there is now a plethora of hot fresh wieners in your bedroom? Can I come over?

  • Kim says:

    you slay me. LMAO

    I can see a midget dressed in a yellow and red stripped shirt, selling cotton candy and hot dogs in your house while Ben and The Daver play Air Hockey.

    all the while you will be sitting in some very oversized recliner, drinking a Whiskey and Diet, explaining to Alex that “his day is coming”.

    *I believe I’m losing my mind*

  • Gail says:

    I am SO coming over to play Air Hockey. I wanted an air hockey table so bad when I was a kid, I was a whining brat for years over it. Instead, we had a freaking ping-pong table. My parents’ rationale was that the neighbors had air hockey, so I could play there. I think it was just a ploy to get rid of me, because I spent a LOT of time at the neighbors’ house.

    We just bought my younger nephew an air hockey table for Christmas. I hate him now. I WANT AN AIR HOCKEY TABLE!!!!!

  • Heather says:

    Or that you’re preparing to cook The Daver’s weiner? ROFL.

    We bought said Power Wheel for our oldest last year. Not just the jeep model, but the hurricane which was SO freaking huge, it wouldn’t fit inside the massive battle ship sized SUV that E drives for work – with the seats all out. He had to schlep it back into the store and return the damn thing because it was so enormous; we got the much more reasonably priced smaller jeep instead. Seriously, I could’ve driven the hurricane.

    I’m also petrified of the eye doctor visits. It’s those torture devices they use for the glaucoma test (the air puff thing); I’m always in sweating fear that some object will shoot out of it, while staring at the light, and I’ll be painfully blinded.

  • becky says:

    Hot, fresh, AND juicy weenies for all!

    And have no fear, Kim, I already HAVE lost my damn mind.

  • Denise says:

    “Hot Dogs! Get your fresh weiners here!” I can hear it now. hee hee

    Sounds like the Daver has got your number. Nothing like the lovely spousal manipulation that one learns during marriage. ;)

  • Emily says:

    You could see it as a kinky place to have sex.

  • ewe_are_here says:

    I used to love air hockey as a kid… and then it was pool. And darts. Hmmmm. Perhaps it was just being in pubs with friends that I was drawn to…

    Anyway, alas, no room for a rec room in our new place.
    ;-)

  • honeywine says:

    Around here, I’m the one in charge of the drip method. Actually, it’s the “uh huh” “nuh uh” method as in “we are not going to your mom’s for dinner” “uh huh” (repeat about 30 times until I get my way). Nothin’ makes a guy get that Chris Rock “i’ll shake a bitch” look like saying nothing but “uh huh” to him for an hour. Too subtle? :D

  • Josh Hawkins says:

    Gail, you better bring your game, because I will wallup your Canadian ass. Canuks know nothing about air hockey.

    Becky, I understand your pain and suffering, blah, blah, blah, when can I come over? Now? What about Now? Now? Now? How about Now? Now?

  • Kat says:

    My husband really wanted to get Final Fantasy 14 and wouldn’t stop badgering me about it for an entire eight hour drive from his best friend’s wedding (he was Best Man) to home. He of course used his best puppy eyes and after the umpteenth time i said FINE JUST SHUT THE HELL UP ABOUT IT. It was a $60 waste of money…the game is horrendous.

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