The Player

My husband
wanted 

a record player.

Why? I
asked.

We don’t
have ROOM for a record player. 

We don’t
NEED a record player. 

We don’t
even OWN any records.

Still, every
time I browsed local thrift stores 

he asked, Did you see any record
players for me?

An icy no was my standard reply.

Where would
we PUT a record player? I asked.

Why don’t
you ask for one for Christmas? I offered.

 

One night we
wandered the Salvation Army 

before heading out to dinner.  I turned my back 

not one minute and, of
course, you know what he found.

A record
player.

A brown
record player.

In a portable
plastic case.

He crossed
the store grinning, 

that contraption hanging at his side 

like a briefcase. 

It’s only
$10, he said.

It’s not
even attractive, I whined.

Are you
kidding?  

It’s portable.  

It’s awesome, he said.

Then, of
course, we had to buy 

some records.