Bride Elect (Evolution of a Bridezilla)
Chapter Twenty-Four—Please Take Me Tool Shopping
As my nieces and nephews grew up and out of wanting the latest toy for their respective birthdays, I started a tradition where I would take them shopping for their birthday. As my oldest nephew worked his way through his twenties, he felt increasingly more awkward about going shopping with his auntie for a birthday present. This year, he grudgingly agreed mostly because I was threatening to buy him a grad present—without any input from him. For him, the thought of me, shopping unsupervised—for him—made him just more than a little nervous.
He had agreed, but was a little evasive when it came to setting a time and date for this shopping venture. To up the ante a little, I started a conversation about possible places we could go shopping. He seemed to have very sound reasons to nix my suggestions. He had everything he needed. Hmmm…this guy was starting to sound like someone I know. Could it be he was uncomfortable with all the attention one gets when graduating from college? How odd that he would be so uncomfortable with people celebrating his good fortune. Feeling a little itchy from my allergy to hypocrisy, I decided not to push things at that moment.
I sought, instead, banality for distraction. We still had our day-to-day things that demanded our attention. For starters, a Goddess Bride has to eat. Palucid and I had a bit of a habit of grocery shopping together. This was one of our weekend standards. Of course, both of us were totally capable of shopping independently, but there was something nice about grocery shopping together—we tended to forget less items. In addition to our usual fare, this one Saturday, we decided to check out solar lights on sale at Canadian Tire ™. Palucid seemed to need my input, but I just couldn’t focus somehow. I needed to roam.
Palucid was talking to himself for about three minutes before he noticed I snuck away. By the time he found me I was in the automotive section enjoying—via deep inhalation—the heady scent of engine oil and tires. I couldn’t tear myself away from all the wrenches and sockets. There was something so soothing, and intriguing about being around gages, and gadgets. If Palucid hadn’t pulled me away, I might have impulse bought a digital torch wrench with an LED backlit LCD crystal display.
Palucid dragged me out of the store with his patented kindness and gentility. He also said something that had me intrigued: Home Depot ™. Apparently, he wanted my input regarding lawnmowers. I think he might have been sweet talking me, but nevertheless, he did make good on his promise, and set me loose in Home Depot. When he was done checking out lawnmowers, he found me in the jubilantly hanging out in the hammer section.
While, for Palucid, this was a refreshing change from my obsession with my passive research, he still found it a little bizarre. With all the bitter fall out around my lemon of a car, I had all but walked away from my intuitive-mechanic-savant ways. I don’t care what jaded men might say, a women can get tired of being right all the time. I just couldn’t handle watching all my “hunches” regarding automobiles come to fruition. Therefore, I just ‘shut down’ that side of myself. Palucid took my renewed intrigue with all things tools as evidence of time healing all wounds. So, when I commented on how he needed to get his power steering looked at, he wasted only some time before following up with his mechanics. But not before alerting me to the fact that my nephew and father were working on my nephew’s truck.
Palucid knows me well. I texted my nephew, and asked him if he needed any tools for his truck. Again, my inquiries were met with a mildly panicked and self-effacing insistence that he didn’t need anything—honest. I countered with a philosophy taught to me by my dad: you can never have “enough” tools—especially if you are under the age of thirty!
We texted back and forth, I mentioned a few stores: Canadian Tire ™, Princess Auto ™, Tool World ™, Home Depot ™… My nephew did not seem intrigued. In fact he seemed…suspicious? Why did I want to go tool shopping—what have I heard? This made me a little defensive. I insisted I heard nothing, and, I implied, he would only be acting this way if he had heard something.
Untrue to form, I started listening to myself. I sounded a little paranoid. I realized I had to come clean. My nephew was cool, he would understand, and even if he didn’t—at least he wouldn’t judge me. He might mock me a little—but I could probably live with that. I confessed: this whole wedding thing is turning me into a total girl, and if I didn’t go tools shopping—stat—I could very well explode and splatter everything within a 25 Kilometre radius with estrogen.
I loved being a bride elect, but I really hated being a weepy head-case. The prospect of tool shopping seemed so alluring and soothing. If some kind testostoroney person didn’t take me tool shopping soon I would have to get my fix on the streets. But before I resorted to that last resort, I thought of telling my maid of honour. After all, we made a pact nearly twenty years ago that neither one of us would involve male strippers in any kind of future stagette. That pact did not include the prospect of tool shopping or other “guy” inspired activities. I could persuade her to take me tool shopping—you know—if all else failed.