By Mike Pound
In my wife’s defense, she can’t help herself.
She doesn’t purposely buy more things than will psychically fit into our car. She does it because she is — to use a technical relationship term — crazier than Donald Trump.
Most of the time we are in Kansas City when my wife buys more things than will fit in our car, which is problematic for two reasons:
Reason No. 1: Since we are in Kansas City, my wife can’t very well leave whatever she bought behind.
Reason No. B: We sort of need to ride in our car to get home.
Sure, I could drive our car full of the stuff my wife purchased, and she and our 14-year-old daughter, Emma, could take a taxi home, but that would be sort of dumb.
Not that my wife hasn’t suggested we do that.
We spent several days last week in Kansas City. My wife is particularly dangerous when she spends several days in Kansas City. Spending several days in Kansas City allows her to make multiple trips to something called a Pottery Barn and something called a World Market.
On Friday, my wife told me that she found the “perfect piece of furniture” for my office. I’m going to be working more from home this year, and my wife is having fun decorating my office even though — to be technical again — I don’t have an office.
It’s my wife’s plan to turn our guest bedroom into my office. (If anyone from the IRS is reading this, my office will actually take up our entire house ... and backyard.)
Ha! That’s just a tax deduction joke.
Seriously! It was a joke!
Our guest bedroom is a guest bedroom in name only. In reality, our guest bedroom should be called “place where we store all of the stuff that we don’t know what to do with.”
In order for our guest bedroom to become my office, we are going to have to figure out what to do with all the stuff that we don’t know what to do with that is currently guesting in our guest bedroom.
When my wife said she found a perfect piece of furniture for my office, I suggested that maybe we should get the junk out of the guest bedroom before we start buying furniture for my office. In response, my wife nodded her head and didn’t say anything, which is her way of saying, “I’m not listening to a word you’re saying.”
On Saturday, we drove to World Market in Westport. I parked the car and told my wife that I was going to Kelly’s Westport Inn, the greatest bar in the world.
My wife told me to have fun, which was her way of saying, “I’m letting you go to Kelly’s so I can buy the piece of office furniture you don’t want me to buy.”
But I didn’t care because I was going to Kelly’s.
There are a lot of good times to find yourself at Kelly’s, but for my money, the best time is on Saturday afternoon. It’s usually quiet at Kelly’s on Saturday afternoon. Not too quiet, but quiet in the way a bar is when you have a slow, steady stream of folks wander in, have a beer or two and wander out. Kelly’s is usually very busy on Saturday nights, so the quiet of Saturday afternoon is sort of neat.
After a while, my wife and Emma joined me at Kelly’s. I was sitting at a small table next to a picture of Thomas Hart Benton, who was a frequent Kelly’s customer.
I asked my wife if she bought the piece of furniture for my office that isn’t an office.
She said she did.
I nodded my head and sipped my beer.
“How big is it?” I asked.
“It’s fine,” my wife said.
“That big, huh?” I said.
“There will be plenty of room,” my wife said.
I nodded my head and took another sip.
“Oh, after we leave here, we need to stop at Pottery Barn,” my wife said.
I asked my wife why we needed to stop at Pottery Barn.
“I need to pick up a few things,” my wife said.
I sat down my beer and stepped out the front of Kelly’s and onto Westport Road.
“TAXI!” I yelled.
DO YOU HAVE AN IDEA for Mike Pound’s column? Call him at 417-623-3480, ext. 7259, or email him at firstname.lastname@example.org. Follow him on Twitter @mikepoundglobe.