Buying a toaster… together

Our toaster broke. It was a hand-me-down from our university days and it had finally toasted it’s last toast. Andrew, the darling husband that he is, was sure he could fix it. So at first he took it apart and it sat on our kitchen counter for a few days… all the while we were left toastless. What we found is we toast things a lot more than we thought, and so I finally put a gentle hand on Andrew’s back and said, “It’s time… It’s time to let go.” In other words, it’s time to buy a new toaster.

Andrew has a much harder time letting go (a.k.a. throwing things away) than I do. I think if I didn’t purge things in our household once in awhile, Andrew would be a bit of a hoarder. His motto is, let’s fix it. My motto is, if its broken let’s buy a new one. Especially if its a cheap toaster.

So after convincing him to go to Superstore, we arrive to find that this Saturday was No Tax Event Saturday… as in pay no taxes on anything in store. The store was packed. Way more crowded than any normal Saturday at Superstore. And Andrew started to get the itch.

You see, Andrew hates crowds. Not in a paralyzing, heart-stopping, panic-attack way but in a hate-to-go-shopping-with-a-bunch-of-other-people-in-my-personal-space kind of way. As we get out of the car and walk toward the chaos that is inside, I pat Andrew on the back and assure him it will all be ok. But my words do nothing to calm him. He scratches his neck. He takes off his hat and rubs his head. He puts his hat back on. He paces. And B-Lines it straight for the kitchen appliances aisle.

If theres one thing I’ve learned about my husband is that in situations like this it’s best to get in, get what you need and get out. My attempts to shop around for other things while the No Tax Event is happening are pointless.

So we find our toaster. Well, in fact we find several… all varying in brand, price and style. As I reach for the chrome/stainless steel looking one Andrew heads for the best priced toaster– the $10 one. It’s the only one left. It’s black. As he grabs the box with a look on his face that seems to say, this will do, I contemplate the idea of arguing in favor for the sleek chrome/stainless steel one I’ve got my eye on on the shelf. As I hesitate to gather my thoughts as to how I would argue for this more expensive (it’s $24), better looking toaster, I hear a toddler crying, I see several shopping carts and people crowding the aisle, and I see Andrew rubbing his neck, itching his head, taking off his hat, wiping the sweat from his forehead, eyes set on the exit doors. And I think, nah… let him have this one.

After all it’s just a toaster.


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