Husband Giveth And Husband Taketh Away

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One summer afternoon back in 2001, my husband arrived home from work towing 2 used jet skis he purchased without my knowledge. His explanation was that a buddy from work was selling them and he “had to make a quick decision” because another guy was also interested in them. (He’s the dream customer of every telemarketer and used car salesman.)  And that’s when the fight began. The money he spent aside, our 3 kids at the time ranged in age from 2 to 7, so from a mom's perspective, this didn't seem like an appropriate jet ski phase of life. But it was done and we were the (angry) owners of 2 pieces of water craft that neither of us had ever ridden, much less owned before. 

The first time we took them out, we got them into the water, started ‘em up, slowly journeyed out of the no wake zone into the wide open water, and then we let those suckers rip. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was having a blast! But I turned around and noticed my husband sitting in the middle of the water not moving, so I headed back in his direction. Just as I got close enough to ask him what was wrong, his jet ski silently and slowly rolled upside down and he disappeared under the water. I'd like to say the first thing that crossed my mind was concern, but I couldn't get past the fact that I'd seen manatees at the zoo roll over exactly like that. (You can't help what goes through your mind, people.) His head, topped with his Ohio State hat all askew, popped out of the water and he was pissed. His engine had sucked up his tow rope and his jet ski was dead. He managed to roll it back over and was trying to get it restarted while I circled him on my jet ski so that he didn't get hit by a passing boat. I thought I was doing a nice thing, so I was stunned when he suddenly screamed, "QUIT CIRCLING ME LIKE A DAMN SHARK!!" (Yikes.)  So I rode away and enjoyed my jet ski.

I looked over at one point and saw him trying to swim his jet ski in. He'd push it, swim till he caught up with it, push it again, and swim some more. From where I was, this didn't look like the best idea, but I wasn't about to say a word. Finally, a passing boat took pity on him. He got on his jet ski and held onto a rope while they slowly towed him in. I was following behind and began to notice that his jet ski was gradually starting to sink. It was getting lower and lower into the water as they pulled him along. By the time they reached the dock, all you saw of my husband was his shoulders and head being pulled behind a boat, while his legs desperately clung to his jet ski, that was completely submerged under the water. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, as the boat pulled alongside the dock, my husband and his jet ski floated straight under it.

Well. That could’ve gone better.

He didn't say anything on the ride home and I tried not to glow from my newly discovered love of a jet ski. We took them out several more times, and each time, without fail, I had a great time and he didn't. Maybe someone should have discussed this purchase with me first, hmm? Maybe someone learned their lesson about first talking to me before making major decisions? Or, maybe not. The following September, I came home to find that the jet skis weren't in our driveway anymore. I ran inside thinking someone had stolen them, only to have him tell me that he donated them. To Amvets. 

And so this became our pattern. He gets excited about something that I don't want, buys it despite my protests, I end up falling in love with it, he ends up hating it, and he gets rid of it. (ie: the Bow Flex machine that was going to get him a "beach body by June 2006" that sold at our garage sale in April. 2006.)

So for my own protection, I changed my approach. Last year he wanted to buy a weight lifting machine. The enormous kind that you should only find in a professional gym. The game played out. I told him we didn't have room for it; he made promises of daily workouts leading to an increased batting average in softball by Spring. It's sitting in our barn now. He's used it 5 times. He has no idea that I've been using it 3 days a week. I complain to him often how much I hate it and beg him to get rid of it. That assures me it'll remain in our barn and won't end up at Goodwill.

Although his weight lifting contraption hasn't given me a beach body, I did lose a few pounds with it's help. 

And he was definitely right about one thing…I've never hit softballs so far in all my life.