The Grumpy Groom

Our apartment is getting a post-wedding upgrade. With my Bride in charge, we’re replacing everything – my old couch, her old kitchen table, dishes, glasses, even the grapefruit knives.

My couch really needs replacing. It’s 10 years old. It sags in the middle and sucks you down like a black hole.

So we visited five different furniture stores in search of a new one. We found the winner at Costco.

Dough diligence
We didn’t love the Costco couch. It was pretty good, with one excellent feature: The price. It cost about two-thirds less than the other contenders.

There was also one problem: Costco doesn’t deliver. My Bride and I were on our own to get the couch home to our 4th-floor apartment. So the next day, I left work early and we rented a U-Haul.

Lend a hand. Or 10.
Getting the couch into the U-Haul went smoothly. In hindsight the fact that we got help from two random shoppers, plus three Costco employees, was perhaps a sign that my Bride and I might have trouble by ourselves.

Getting the couch out of the U-Haul was also painless. We got help from a random neighbor outside of our building.

Then the box wouldn’t fit through the apartment door. We used scissors – not the good ones – to cut away the cardboard. We shoved and slid the couch into the building and over to the elevator.

That’s as far as we got. No amount of pushing, pulling, lifting, cursing, or crying, could get that couch into the elevator or into the stairwell. The only thing we got for our effort was, a meltdown.

Backpedaling
We reversed the process. The couch went back out the front door, back on the U-Haul, and back to Costco.

Six hours after our ordeal began, my Bride and I were home again. We were tired and humbled. Yet we were infinitely happier sitting inside our home on the saggy couch, than sitting outside our elevator on the new one.

Two days later, we found another couch. It’s from a different store. It’s more expensive. It’s getting delivered.

We love it.

Prior to my wedding, a wise man advised me: Preparing for marriage is tame. Once you say “I do,” is when life really accelerates.

It’s true. Three years ago, when my Bride and I started dating, I owned a 19-inch TV with no cable. Three weeks after our wedding, I am the proud owner of a 52-inch big screen. With surround sound. It’s a gift from my generous new family.

Before I met my Bride, my couch doubled as a dining room table. Yesterday we acquired a real dining room table, with matching chairs. Next up: Replacing the old couch.

Honeymoon’s over
The week after our honeymoon ended, we visited three different Macy’s, in hot pursuit of tableware to complete our registry. I’m not a good shopper. By the time we reached our second Macy’s, my maturity level had reverted several decades, to pre-adolescence.

I begged for items I didn’t need, like an adopt-a-monkey kit. I pouted. Made faces. Asked my Bride to pull my finger.

My Bride, bless her, is a former school teacher. Hence she was completely unfazed by my antics. She even said I could adopt a monkey if I really wanted one.

Cut!
But everyone has limits. I finally pushed my Bride past hers when I opened some cable for our surround sound system. The tool I chose to disgorge the cable from its package was, a new pair of scissors.

The scissors were part of a beautiful Henckels knife block set, a wedding gift from Aunt Sue. My Bride had specifically instructed me that the scissors were for kitchen use only. She even gave me a visual demo by using the scissors to snip some parsley.

I forgot all of these instructions and used our fine shears to stab, saw and hack through the plastic cable packaging. When my Bride discovered the smoking gun – scissors lying on the living room rug, next to the ragged packaging, below the speaker tower – a meltdown ensued.

I was briefly defiant. An hour or so later, I came to my senses and apologized.

My Bride let me off with no further consequences. I was grateful for my reprieve. So I promised, then double-promised, no more monkey business.