By Kelly Sinon
I should hide this latest purchase. It’s an extravagance that
should be taken out in secret and fawned over and put far into the
back of my closet. There is no way that I can let The Husband see
that I’ve been so frivolous. He’ll lecture me, and tell me that I
am never allowed into the mall by myself, and that he is cutting
back my allowance.
 I’ll look contrite and offer to make his favorite meal for
supper that night.
By Kelly Sinon
I should hide this latest purchase. It’s an extravagance that should be taken out in secret and fawned over and put far into the back of my closet. There is no way that I can let The Husband see that I’ve been so frivolous. He’ll lecture me, and tell me that I am never allowed into the mall by myself, and that he is cutting back my allowance. I’ll look contrite and offer to make his favorite meal for supper that night.
This is 2006, not 1946, and in actuality it’s The Husband who should be hiding this purchase and offering to cook my favorite meal. The strange thing is, it’s a purse. An expensive, designer purse. My husband bought a purse. In all fairness, he has good taste. And it is for me. I hope.
Since it is 2006, he can make all of his fashion purchases online, which is where this latest find took place.
eBay Fever has struck the Sinon household with a vengeance. In the last three days, The Husband has purchased the above-mentioned expensive purse, two field hockey sticks, a tiny Thomas Kincaid print and a shirt, size junior medium.
None of these things were a necessity, but The Husband is behind the times. He missed the dawn of eBay. He must’ve still been playing Atari Pong.
One night he was sitting at the computer, happily playing a combat game that actually was purchased during this decade. You can take the guy out of the Army, but you can’t take the Army out of the guy. Anyway, he suddenly stopped as if some invisible pull lured him from contented shooting and grenade throwing to broaden his horizons and embrace his purse-buying, color-matching, bargain-finding self.
He asked me what color I liked. I laughed. I was even a little touched. Not a lot of men would look at purses with their wives in the store while being yanked along with promises of an ice cream after, if he’s a good boy. But this guy was about to voluntarily look at them. An endless sea of Coach, Louis Vuitton and Burberry. A wide array of totes, hobo bags and wristlets.
Undaunted, he kept his focus. He decided that he would place a modest bid on a blue Coach demi purse.
By this time, I’d actually walked away. I know how eBay works. You place your $2.99 bid on something that retails for $185.00, and just when you think it’s yours for that fabulous low, low price, with minutes to spare, you’re sucked in. Drawn into a bidding war with KissMeAngel and some guy named Purse Dude, which begs the question: How many other men out there have succumbed to the allure of buying their wives nice gifts, earning Brownie points against visits to the in-laws on the same Sunday as the Big Game?
I’d warned The Husband of the eBay Trap. Several times. He said that he would not bid above a certain amount. I trusted this usually logical (read “frugal”) man. The auction still had over 24 hours to go. I was confident he would forget the magnetism of the $2.99 designer purse.
The next morning, we started our day with coffee and a quick goodbye. With the weather being what it’s been, his construction job is more of a part time gig these days. Often, he’s home a lot earlier than I am. It works out for me since he can make supper, do a load of laundry or make a run to pay a bill in town. All of those things were on his agenda this afternoon.
None of them got done.
The call of the auction was too great. He sat at the computer, and the games began. Purse Dude was making a strong showing and KissMeAngel was coming up fast. The Husband kept his eye on the prize. With mere seconds left, and well over the original modest bid, he was the proud owner of a light blue Signature Coach spring purse.
I fear that eBay is the “New Porn.” Venturing down the stairs late one night for a glass of water, I’d find him crouched in the darkness of the living room. The only light from the computer monitor, displaying hundreds of purses in various shapes and sizes. His feeble assurances that he can stop anytime he wants. With all of the varieties of purses and the new spring colors, who could blame him? But I’m thinking I’d better cut back his allowance.
Kelly Sinon can be reached at sk*****@ao*.com. She lives in Gilroy with her family.
