Blogs

As I emptied cabinet after cabinet, preparing for our dining room remodel, I was overcome by the frivolity with which we seem to spend our money. Margarita sets - unopened. Salad bowls - unused. Corn on the cob gadgets - untouched. But one particular item really caught my attention and subsequently, prompted me to bring it to my husband's attention.

"Did I at some point in our marriage give you the indication that I wanted us to slice our own meat? Because that was wrong of me."

I had hoped to stand defiant with one hand on my hip, but the meat slicer was much too heavy for that sort of display, so I stood barely hoisting this this blade-wielding monstrosity.

"No, I bought it a while ago because I wanted to slice meat," he spoke as if I was the knucklehead.

"Listen, I didn't say anything when you wouldn't let me yard sale all of the games that have the pieces still bound in plastic. I admired your desire to be a game-playing family even though we are sending our eldest child to college next fall and as yet, have not played a single round of Pictionary. And do I complain when we toss out bags and bags of wilted salad to make room for left-over pizza and Chinese? No! we aren't those people, but I do nothing to quell your dreams I am however, gonna have to draw the line at meat slicing."

My arms were weakening but my conviction stood like a steel-framed pyramid.

"It's a meat slicer. It takes up less than one square foot. What's the problem?" The man was bold, I'll give him that.

"Well to begin with I would guestimate we've eaten - as a family of five - at most, a total of 17 lunch meat sandwiches in the last six months. Not to mention, I don't even know where you'd go to get UNsliced meat."

I'd hoped to be more expressive with my hands and arms, but the slicer was winning.

"Uhhhhh the deli?" he may as well have finished with - "dummy".

"Oh the deli? You mean the place where you can walk in and say, 'chipped, sliced thin, sliced thick, a quarter pound, seven pounds or ANYTHING in between and they'll do it on the spot for free?"

"Ok, ok, I get it. I just wanted a meat slicer; I don't know why. And you don't even see it unless you go looking," he did have a point but

"You know what I do see? I see an ER bill with a cord attached. So, we have this appliance - that cost God knows how much - sitting in a cabinet unused for ten? fifteen? years - but I'm not allowed to put it in the yard sale pile?"

My excellent counterpoint was like the Grinch hearing the music on Christmas morning, my muscles grew three sizes. I pushed the meat slicer toward him, "It's being relocated today, just tell me where."

He opened his mouth-- I shook my head, "No, no, it's not the time. Don't try to be funny."

"Just give it to me."

The weight of it caught him off guard and I felt a little tremor of satisfaction. He righted himself almost imperceptibly and groused, "I'll take it downstairs."

When he came back upstairs, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and gave a little squeeze as he nuzzled my ear and whispered, "In case you go looking for it I stacked it on top of the 3 dusty, unopened shipping boxes marked 'wreath making materials'."

-Karen Iseminger

Karen Iseminger is a mother of three, wife of one and self-proclaimed master of overthinking. She is a pharmacist by profession and a writer by passion. She and her husband Dan recently sold their independent pharmacy because of the dire state of the industry, but also to give Karen a shot at turning her hobby of hyperbole into a paying gig. She enjoys writing about her family and their shenanigans and her hope is that their experiences will help other families know exactly what not to do.