Guy Stuff

They found me. Not only that but they sent me a catalogue. I really thought that I had done a better job of hiding my weakness. But I shouldn't really be surprised. It only makes sense that the Gadget Nation would be able to identify one of their own.

Even so, I was startled when I pulled a catalogue called "The Gadget Motherload" from the mailbox. As a closet gadget geek, it took my breath away to think there was a whole publication devoted to "guy stuff."

After standing at the mailbox in a trance for about fifteen minutes, I noticed it was raining hard, so I headed inside. Halfway there, I realized that going inside with the catalogue would be risky. My wife has suspected for many years that there was something weird about me.

In the past, I've tried to downplay my gadget needs. But what she doesn't understand is that 99% of all males are genetically programmed gadget geeks to some degree or another. But because she seems so bothered by the possibilities, I felt it best not to tell her everything.

In the meantime, I've tried to suppress my gadget purchasing impulse. When confronted with the opportunity to buy some totally cool, but utterly useless gadget, I've just tried to disguise it. In other words, I used some of her own shopping tricks, like "Honey, it was on sale and I saved us a ton of money." Or sometimes, "I thought it would be good for the kids to experience a gadget on occasion." And sometimes, quite frankly, I just hid my gadgets.

That's why the catalogue was such a challenge. It had some really serious guy stuff, and there was no way that I could just walk in and wave it around. If she spotted the catalogue, I knew she'd be making me an appointment to see a Gadget Reduction Counselor before I mentally disappeared for a month.

Standing at the door, I considered just being honest and telling her up front that it came in the mail. But even if she believed me, I'd probably only save our marriage by promising to throw it away and then I'd still have to go through the counseling.

The more I thought about it, the more angry I got with myself. Sure, I'm a gizmo freak, but I'm also an adult and I shouldn't have to slink around like a common criminal. I should get to do whatever I want to for my allotted thirty minutes each weekend. In other words, I should be proud of what I am.

I had just about convinced myself that I was right when I heard footsteps heading toward the door. Out of instinct, I stuffed the catalogue down inside my pants just as my wife opened the door. "What are you doing out here in the rain?," she asked.

I tried to compose myself. "Oh, nothing, just standing here enjoying a good soaking."

"Did you get the mail?," she asked.

"Yes," I answered, and I handed her the thirty-four women's catalogues that were also in the mailbox.

"Oh, good," she said as she started toward the den. I was frozen to my spot, afraid to move. "Come on," she waved to me. "The Bed and Bath Channel is doing a piece on how to choose a bedspread for under five thousand dollars."

I still didn't move. That's when she knew without looking. "What have you got crammed down your pants?" I was like a deer in headlights. "What is it?" she said, narrowing her eyes.

Like a trapped animal, I panicked and stammered, "It a girlie magazine. It came in the mail." I tried to look ashamed and dirty.

"Oh," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I thought it was some kind of gadget magazine. Well, your thirty minutes are up, so come on up to the den. There might be some bedspreads for us to look at in these catalogues."

Just for the record, being a closet gadget geek is far more humiliating than anyone could ever imagine.