A little over a week ago, I ended up in the doctorâ€™s office, trying to eradicate a persistentÂ sinus infection. LCB, feeling gallant, had offered to drive me despite the fact that, while sick, I was still fully capable of getting my sorry little self a few miles down the road.
It was a sweet gesture, so I let the man I love drive Miss Daisy to the doctor. While I was in the office, LCB found himself with an undetermined amount of time to kill. Not surprisingly, he headed to a nearby T.J. Maxx and did what he does best: He scoured the clearance racks.
When we got home and I had downed my first dose of meds, praying all the while for a super cure that would allow me to teach in a non-death-warmed-over state the next day, he unveiled his stash.
Some men show a macho pride over their cars or their stereo systems; for LCB, one of his biggest sources of pride is when he scores a deal. (Iâ€™ve often wondered what, based on this truth, a psychologist would say about his choice in a wife.)
Of his purchases, there were two interesting ones to note. The first was a black Nike jacket that happened to be the very same jacket I had contemplated buying him for Christmas a few weeks earlier. I didnâ€™t buy it, only because he is this freakish human specimen who is annoyingly never, ever, ever cold. Seriously, if he shivers, I start mentally reviewing the steps of CPR, because I know something is insanely wrong. So, I didnâ€™t get the jacket, figuring heâ€™d probably never wear it. Naturally, then, without a wife to suggest it for him, he suddenly determined that he could use a light jacket. Thus, as I found out later that night, while various medical utensils were being shoved down my throat, in T.J. Maxx Baby-girl was working unknowingly on my behalf. Afterward, LCB confirmed that she had steered him away from a jacket that he conceded â€œlooked rather 80sâ€ and toward the same jacket I had originally chosen for him.
With much pride and not a little awe, I submit to you the following facts: Baby-girl was not with me when I shopped for LCB last month, and had no knowledge of my even considering a jacket for him.
Letâ€™s all just take a moment here.
The second interesting purchase is this.
Theyâ€™re headphones reported to cancel out noise. Now, those of you who know LCB via this blog (or real life) can probably guess where Iâ€™m going with this one. LCB, his wife-designated pseudonym, stands for Loquacious Cabana Boy. Loquacious is basically a more gracious way of saying my husband talks all the darn time, most especially during times when silence is the socially-appropriate practice or when thereâ€™s nothing more to be said on the matter. For further explanation and various examples of the staggering impact this has had on my life lo these many years, see Latin I and approximately 37% of my posts.Â Â
Hereâ€™s the funny part: He actually was under the impression that he had purchased the headphones for himself.
So I quickly shared the gospel with the man I love and informed him of How Things Were Going To Go Down.
He handed over the headphones.
Tonight, therefore, as I sat down to write this post, I decided to try them out.
Yâ€™all, I suspect a good sticker would have done more to reduce the sounds of LCBâ€™s obnoxious little remarks made solely â€œfor testing purposes.â€ I didnâ€™t really want to ask LCB about the science behind the headphones, nor about what “active noise cancelation” means,Â nor about why they appeared to be ineffective;Â clearly, that would haveÂ elicited a lengthy, geeked-out explanation, so I searched the internet instead. This proved futile, as the explanations involved exposure to my personal kryptonite, i.e. science.Â Â
Oh, and if he reads this later and tries to suggest it was operator error?
Then heaven help the man I love.