Eating a dose of holiday humble pie
”
I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.
”
I surveyed the scene with that
”
I think something bad can happen here
”
feeling. His face went from neutral to crimson, like zero to 60.
I could see the tension in his arms as he attempted to lift nearly
his body weight from his public perch at The Mall, in a store that
caters to men, anxious to revisit their youth.
Eating a dose of holiday humble pie
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” I surveyed the scene with that “I think something bad can happen here” feeling. His face went from neutral to crimson, like zero to 60. I could see the tension in his arms as he attempted to lift nearly his body weight from his public perch at The Mall, in a store that caters to men, anxious to revisit their youth.
Looking around, I saw other families with a similar cast of characters. Vaguely Annoyed Mom, Delusional Dad, and either Hero Worshiping Son and Embarrassed Teenaged Daughter or Oblivious Kids.
He was lobbying hard for a Christmas present that would live in the garage and only be used sporadically. Usually after holiday meals or in training for Super Bowl Sunday.
“I think I got it,” He assured me through gritted teeth and a wink that looked like the beginnings of some sort of seizure and a sad Tom Selleck impersonation, but still managed to come off as cute.
“Dad, you’re turning all red and sweaty,” The Girl informed him, looking askance for anyone she might happen to know.
“Cool, Dad!” The Boy exclaimed.
I chuckled and rolled my eyes.
“Dude, don’t hurt yourself,” the mostly disinterested part-time clerk cautioned from a safe distance. The placard on a cord around his neck read, “How may I help you, today?” I didn’t think he was being very helpful. I also thought that he could benefit from his own product as he ineffectually tugged his polo shirt down over a sizable middle.
I was amazed that The Husband could actually move the weights at all, since he’d managed to fit all of them on the strange apparatus.
“Oh, wow,” I said. “That’s really good and more than a little scary.” I was duly impressed and hoped that by showing that, I could get him to “come down from there.”
His face fleetingly registered relief that I did in fact notice how big and strong he still is after all these years so he could finally let go of the silly machine handles.
With a loud “thunk,” the weights found their rightful place on the ground.
“Whew, that was good,” The Husband affirmed as if he’d just swam a few laps. He sat up and walked toward us.
Resisting the urge to yank him by the wrist and pull him along like a mother would her errant child; I smiled and followed him out of the store, leaving a disappointed, sans commission “Dude” behind.
Later, sipping a Starbucks, and pondering how hard a spit ball would hit a bald guy below while hanging over the banister on the second floor of The Mall, The Husband said, “Hey, look at this.”
He was pushing in his stomach a-la-Pillsbury Doughboy. Then, he grabbed my hand to feel what felt like Alien making its appearance.
Suitably grossed out, I let out a shriek.
Visions of William Shatner’s truss danced through my head.
“I think you ought to schedule a doctor’s appointment, Sport.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said with just a tinge of worry.
Vaguely Annoyed Mom is still impressed, Embarrassed Teenaged Daughter is, I am sure, still embarrassed and Hero Worshiping Son is still blissfully proud. Delusional Dad, however, got a dose of reality and is recovering from a merry holiday surgery.
