The Battle of the Lamp

Ralphie as Adult: [narrating, as Mother switches off the leg lamp] My mother was about to make another brilliant maneuver in the legendary battle of the lamp. The epic struggle which follows lives in the folklore of Cleveland Street to this very day.

The title of this one comes from the movie, "A Christmas Story" wherein Ralph Parker desperately wants a BB Gun for Christmas and his imagined machinations are hilarious.  A sub-plot in this movie is when Mr. Parker wins a lurid lamp in a newspaper contest and displays it proudly in the front window of their house.  Mrs. Parker "accidentally" breaks the lamp.

 My husband has a desk.  He's had this desk for over 20 years and it has been in his parents' home, and two of our houses in that 20 years.  It is also made of press board.  It is huge, ugly and needs to be sent to the garbage dump with honors.  He is, however, determined to find a way to keep it and fit it into his little cave he's made in the back room off the laundry room.  He says it's so that he may watch porn in peace, but we all know he's watching anime and My Little Pony. (Don't ask if you don't know what a Brony is).

Most people seeing this desk would recommend it be either burned or thrown out.  Not my husband.  EVEN THOUGH HE JUST BOUGHT A NEW DAMNED DESK.

So perhaps you see where I am coming from.  Now he's trying to say I can have his new desk and he can put that old desk in the room after all (yeah, after he scratches my washer and dryer to hell and back)!

This is the problem, I don't want that desk.  I've finally decided I want a standing or high top desk with a tall, stool-type chair.  And I don't intend to get one until I find the exact one I want and try out every chair as I've finally found a chair I like, but alas, it is a regular office chair.  I'm very picky about office chairs.  This means I cannot order the chair online because I will have to try it out.

And thus the broken lamp comes into a more clear view.  My husband's desk must now have some sort of tragic, fatal accident from which it cannot be brought back.  My neighbor and I had though that wrecking one of the drawers would be enough, but no, he thinks he can fix it because, and I quote, "That part does nothing".

Do you see the delusion with which I am dealing?  Crazy.

So today, while he is at work, I will make sure that desk cannot remain in my house.  Heavy trash pick up is in less than two weeks, it can sit in my garage with all of the other crap my husband cannot part with, up to and including empty boxes and broken lawn implements.  I know that my neighbor would love for her husband to begin taking things to the heavy trash days.  I now have a porch swing, treadmill, couch, love seat and various chainsaws, trimmers and other crap my husband left out in the yard to spoil over the winter that must now be picked up and thrown away because he finds it impossible to put things back from where he got them.

I found a pick-axe in the grass, no lie.

Way must be made for my new piano, and I see the desk as an acceptable sacrifice.