That only a Mother can love.
When I was younger, my dad and I went out shopping for Mother’s Day. Maybe it was Christmas. I don’t know. This is Mother’s Day so it was a Mother’s Day gift. Dammit, Jim, I’m just an eye doctor!
My mom wanted a new lamp for our end table in the family room. The one she had still worked. Neither my dad nor I could understand why a perfectly good lamp needed to be replaced. Seriously . . .do you change the bulb before it burns out? But I digress.
So we went in search of a lamp. At a furniture store–which also sold “accessories.” It really wouldn’t have mattered if we went to a lamp store. We were both clueless if we couldn’t find it in the hardware store. And even then . . .
After wandering around with glazed looks on our eyes, a sale person finally took pity on us and helped us find a lamp.
Neither my dad nor I could find anything wrong with the lamp. It looked nice next to the display furniture that looked nothing like our family room, but we could kind of picture it on the end table. Who am I kidding? The sales clerk said it was a nice lamp. We were getting hungry and woozy. Therefore . . . it was perfect.
My dad questioned the price, because it was apparently more than what he wanted to spend on a lamp.
The lady explained to him that the lamp was actually sold as a set of TWO lamps.
My dad told her we only wanted one.
She explained that this was not the way lamps were sold.
He explained that we only had one end table and one lamp to replace on that end table. (He also explained that the current lamp worked just fine, and he was still unsure why we were here.)
She would have to check with her manager.
After what seemed like days of debating to a teenager who would rather be home watching TV and filling my young mind with important things, the manager finally relented and sold my dad ONE lamp–for slightly more than half price. This apparently was an accord of epic proportions like the Sadat-Begin Treaty (which I believe was going on around this time–eventually signed in September of 1978.) You would have thought we were breaking up Sonny and Cher! But I digress.
I think we also wrapped up the scissors in the box. The paper mostly stayed on until she opened it.
She loved the lamp! Success!
But then she looked around and with the most curious look on her face, she asked, “where’s the other lamp?”
My dad replied that we only needed one for the one end table. This was it.
“But they usually come as a set. I want to put the other one over there.”
My mom did eventually get the other lamp. The sales clerk at the same furniture store that sold her the unmatched lamp to the one she had told her this amusing story about the two guys that refused to buy both lamps. They didn’t think they’d ever be able to sell this odd one, and they were thrilled my mom was willing to buy it by itself. My mom didn’t mention my dad or I. I’m pretty sure she pretended she didn’t know us. The store clerks may still be laughing about this in their retirement.
So here is my Daily Prompt letter to Mom:
It was all dad’s fault.
I love you.