We went to one of those warehouse stores the other night to buy the meat for the party tomorrow.
(…Oh, yeah, the party... 4th of July/Mom’s birthday party…it’s a big one and I am so horribly freaking out about it that I’m having trouble sleeping and eating and just generally want to crawl under a rock. Or move to a different country and change my name, whichever. Family (at least my family) situations are stressful enough but this party has the potential to turn ugly. At best, it’s going to be strained and painfully awkward. (Whoohoo! Happy birthday, Mom! Love ya!) If I’m lucky I’ll be thoroughly anesthetized by a good IPA by the time they light the candles on the cakes…that I still have to bake today.)
Anyway, after we had picked up some bratwurst, the biggest can of baked beans I’ve ever seen in my life, and a Hawaiian shirt for Mike, we stopped to look at the electronics.
“I think we need a new alarm clock,” Mike mentioned, oh-so-casually.
“What? Why? We just got that one!” I knew what was coming, so I was working up some exasperation in advance.
“No, it’s really old.” (Mike has a different concept of “old”, at least when it comes to small appliances. We got that alarm clock after we moved into our house, so it’s about 3 years old. In fact, it seems like most electrical things last about 3 years when exposed to Mike - once is coincidence, twice is happenstance, three times….?) “And the buttons don’t work or something. I set my alarm every night and it doesn’t go off in the mornings anymore.”
I should have suspected that time was running out for the alarm clock when it started making that random beeping sound. I sighed and said, “I’m not going to say it. We both know what happened so I’m not going to say it.”
Mike looked sheepish, but still stubbornly stuck to his denial. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Okay, fine. Be that way. But you’re still getting a wind-up.”He grinned, delighted at the idea of a shiny little clock ticktickticking away on the nightstand, right next to the rotary phone.