By Kelley Bowden
Redlands News Collective
My husband is generous, giving, and likes fine things, and great travel experiences.
When I am spending money at the speed of a race car driver at the Grand Prix in Monaco, he rarely hits the brakes on my purchases.
We have flown first class on Emirates like big shooters. Showering at 40,000 feet will make you feel a type of clean you have never felt before.
The five-star hotels we have stayed in have opened my eyes to the good life like only a good surgeon can.
Much of that luxury came from one of my husband’s secret superpowers.
For years, he was a road warrior, collecting airline miles and hotel points everywhere he went.
So even while living the high life, somewhere in the back of his mind he was still working the deal.
Over the years, we have remodeled our home while sparing very little expense. The number of home improvement projects we have completed would make Chip and Joanna cry over their lost income.
So, before I continue singing his praises, I need to make one thing perfectly clear: My husband is NOT cheap. He has zero problem purchasing high-end appliances, televisions, automobiles, or anything else he believes is worth the money. No expense is spared on a major purchase, a remodel, or a memorable trip.
But there is another side to this man.
Years ago, he purchased solar for our home before solar was cool. Apparently, he could see the crazy electric bills of the future coming long before I could.
He contacted three solar companies and reviewed their quotes like Uncle Sam checks our tax returns.
At the time, I questioned spending the money. I didn’t think we needed solar.
My idea?
A new car would have been a much better use of our funds.
Wrong!
Today, he practically has hearts in his eyes while gazing at his gas app, searching for the lowest price per gallon in town.
When he finds it, I swear an invisible superhero cape appears behind him as he proudly poses at the pump.
And then there is grocery shopping. My husband grocery shops.
Yes, he does.
But he doesn’t just grocery shop. He approaches it like a super sleuth solving a major crime. He knows what things should cost, where they are on sale, and always buys two of every canned good.
He will happily go to several stores searching for the best value.
Something I would never do. I don’t even like going into the grocery store once.
Every superhero has a weakness. Superman had kryptonite. Wonder Woman had to fight evil while wearing what appeared to be the world’s most uncomfortable, way-too-tight corset.
And now we must speak of my husband’s weakness.
He cannot throw away anything mechanical that might still have one tiny breath of life left in it.
He will beg, borrow, search for, order, and possibly manufacture a part in our garage if necessary
to extend the life of an appliance.
He buys extended warranties on our automobiles to ensure we get every possible mile out of our rides.
Most people purchase a home and have a home warranty for the first year.
Our home warranty is now in its 23rd year. At this point, I believe the policy may outlive us.
My husband performs CPR and emergency surgery on our mechanical possessions until there is absolutely no alternative but to call the coroner.
Prime example: Our dishwasher. Our dishwasher is 15 years old. In appliance years, I believe that makes it approximately 112.
Last week, we needed to go to the UPS Store to return a part for our maturing and wounded dishwasher. My husband dropped me off in front, and I gladly ran inside to return his package.
I wanted to be helpful. And I was thankful it wasn’t a grocery store.
The cashier handed me the paperwork and asked me to please check the name and address of the company where the part was being returned.
I looked down. Then I read the company name.
Vintage Parts.
I busted out with a full guttural laugh right there at the counter. Vintage Parts!
This wasn’t a part for a classic Ferrari. It wasn’t a replacement piece for a rare guitar. It wasn’t something needed to restore an antique watch or a priceless piece of jewelry.
It was a part for our 15-year-old dishwasher on life support!
Apparently, we no longer own appliances. We own vintage collectibles.
The drive home was fun because I couldn't stop laughing about the word vintage.
I suggested that perhaps — just perhaps — it might finally be time to buy a new dishwasher. My suggestion was acknowledged and then quietly placed on a shelf somewhere in my husband’s brain.
He had already purchased another part. He assured me that if this part didn’t work, then we would buy a new dishwasher.
The part arrived. He installed it. And damn it ...
The dishwasher is working.
Just like a vintage dishwasher should.
I suppose I should be grateful.
Because after all these years, I now know one thing for certain: My husband does not get rid of vintage things.
Which greatly improves the odds that he will keep his vintage wife until the end.