The Man Who Sold the World

Sale'n, Take Me Away To Where I'm Goin'

I got my first sale. It's eensie weensie teensie, but it is my first and it excites me. I suppose I feel a little like a young betrothed woman when she looks at her little chip of a diamond ring... it may be small but it's all hers and it means a lot.

For me, it means some people have to eat their words and others are, slightly at least, vindicated. Again, it isn't anything too exciting, so it would be to certain peril to call my transition a success. But today I feel I am on the right track. By my calculations, my commission for this account will total $490.00. Not a princely sum to be sure. And, it will be paid in dribbs and drabs over the next year. As far as waves go, this one is not tidal.

For some reason, it doesn't matter to me. I made a sale. There will be more.

The Blah Blah Blog

Alright, another blog is the last thing you need to read and the last thing I can commit the time to writing. But Em and I had floated the idea of the Blah Blah Blog, a he-said, she-said entry about fun little things that have happened to us and what we learned. I do not profess to being any sort of relationship expert but the fact that she has put up with me and I with she (not correct gramatically, but cute) for as long as we have counts for something.

No one really responded and it sort of died. It probably died more because of our lack of time, new jobs and the like.

It came up the other night after dinner. There were a lot of dishes. Em took a stack from the table to the kitchen. I removed the rest of the non-dish items from the table (un-set it as it were) and briefly left the area. I believe I was changing the channel from the news to Wheel of Torture; because if Em hears the beginning drum beats to Inside Edition she starts yelling about turning that crap off. I race to the remote each night to avoid this eventuality.

Of course, the lights and sounds of Wheel are enough to entrance my simple bird-like man mind and I stood, momentarily transfixed at the bounty of visual and auditory input before me blazing out of my ultra bright and clear 1080p HD TV into my darkened room.

From my left ear, I hear a sigh. A big one. A resigned, big, sigh. This is never good.

"How may I help you, dear?" I say in a sing-song voice at her side again in the kitchen.
"I can do the dishes, but it is nice if you just help me out a little bit," she says, waving at the stack of dishes before her, "You can at least rinse the dishes like I have asked you to do so many times!"

Reflexively I was about to defend myself, for like a well beaten dog, I know to rinse the dishes or suffer the wrath. In fact, I have been faithfully rinsing dishes for quite some time now and yet I still have the reputation for not.

And then I remembered. SHE BROUGHT IN THE DISHES! I UNSET THE TABLE!

This is tantamount to having your finger on the nuclear button. What to do? What to do? If I take the opportunity before me, juicy as it seems, I set off a chain of events that leads to Mutually Assured Destruction With Intent For Everlasting Enmity (MADWIFEE). Nobody wants that. Especially since my good friends and coping mechanisms Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, Jose Cuervo and Mark Maker aren't in the house during Lent.

My little man mind shifted down to DEFCON 3 as I weighed my options.

Quietly, without making eye contact I said in a soft, pitiful voice, "Is now a good time to remind you that you brought these dishes in my dear, and that I, your loving husband unset the table and then vanquished the dreaded trash television show you hate so much?"

It worked. She laughed as she realized it was all too true. "Well that shouldn't matter!" she said jocularly while my sympathetic nervous system forestalled the countdown to stroke.

An old coworker of mine once said love is defined by knowing which buttons to push, and then not pushing them. I suppose that concept rang around my empty head a little while I decided the best way forward.

And so the doomsday clock reset, I poured my wife a glass of wine and retreated to the drawing room to watch Vanna White make millions for no discernible reason whatsoever. And getting off topic somewhat; Vanna dresses up like it's the Academy Awards every day of her life. I wonder why she doesn't show up to the red carpet in jeans and a hoody. Now that would be fashion!